Ice Star
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 22) An alternate-scenario exploration of "Aliens" from Drake's perspective, focusing on what if each of the Marines had managed to survive and how.
1. Chapter 1

When not in cryo, I have a hard time getting any kind of sleep in space. It's been a few hours since we were shipped up to Gateway to get ready for a task that we haven't received a lot of information about. I've been tossing and turning the whole time, feeling like my body's clock had just been smashed to bits.

I can hear Hudson snoring next to me. The only thing separating us is a thin metal wall-we're basically sleeping in closets. I know it's a temporary thing, but still. Sunlight was spilling through the window, making it difficult for me to comprehend that it's time to fucking sleep already.

The next thing I knew, the lights came on and I heard Apone telling us all to get our asses up and ready to get moving. I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned with everyone else, feeling like I only slept five minutes.

"You're gonna get three weeks, people, so no bitching and moaning about sleep," he said. "Looking at you, Drake."

I didn't even offer a grunt.

Our ship, the USS _Sulaco_, had been fuelled up for the journey to some rock known as LV-426. The only thing we knew so far was that a colony had stopped communicating with Earth, and us lucky ducks were gonna go find out what happened. The other thing we knew was that a civvie woman was going to come with us. I dunno. She ran into a violent alien creature and thinks that's why the colony has gone silent.

However, I also overheard someone say that she has PTSD over this. That's something I'm a little too familiar with.

Not only did we have a civvie, but we had a new officer. Aside from a few missions during Cetii Epsilon IV when General Russell accompanied us in the dropship, we've never really had an officer leading us, personally, in a mission. This was . . . definitely new for us. He didn't say much when he walked with us through the airlock. In fact, he looked . . . kinda shy.

Well, not shy, but distant. Not sure what was on his mind, but I wasn't about to judge him for thinking. He was lean and fit, with his head nearly shaven, just like what you'd expect from an officer. I caught a glimpse of his nametag when he walked by us, but I wouldn't remember it until we got out of cryo in a few weeks.

After gathering up our supplies and weapons, we boarded the _Sulaco_. Apone ordered us all to put our shit in a locker and dress down for cryosleep. Hudson was grinning while we took off our boots and trousers and hung them up. He waited until some of the others walked away before saying, "When we get back, I only got four more weeks on my contract, man."

"I know. You haven't stopped talking about it ever since you had one more year left on your fucking contract," I muttered. "Got anything else you can talk about that won't annoy the crap outta us?"

"Well, when we come back to Earth, I'm gonna need your help with something." Hudson leaned in to whisper. "I'm gonna marry Miranda when I get my discharge, man. I gotta pick out a nice ring for her. Could you help me with that? Please, man?"

I sighed. "Fine. I know Vasquez and I have a couple months before we gotta meet with some representative about our contracts and whether we can become civvies again. I definitely want to ask her to marry me when we're out and on our own."

"And I'll help you with that, man." He gave me a goofy smile. "That day's gonna be here before you know it."

"Yeah. Don't forget I'm your best man." I closed my locker, and followed everyone out to the cryosleep chamber. The civilian woman was getting in the tube next to mine, but I didn't pay any attention to her as I walked down to where Wierzbowski was laying down in his. "You doing OK?"

"I called Eliza this morning," he replied. "She's alright, I guess. Not looking forward to not being able to talk to me for the next six weeks, but I left her a present at home."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Letters. She likes quirky, romantic things like that, so I wrote out some short letters to her and hid them around the apartment." Wierzbowski smirked. "She'll find them whenever she's doing stuff like cleaning or laundry. I made one real easy so she'll get the hint and think it's a scavenger hunt."

"And you were able to do this in a week?"

"I've had it planned for some time. If I ever have to be sent off-world, I'll take them out of a box and hide them the day before I have to leave."

"I think her quirkiness has been rubbing off on you too much."

"Hey, that's my wife you're talking about." Wierzbowski laughed before getting on his back in the cryotube. "Have a nice sleep, Drake."

_I wouldn't count on it._ "You, too, bud." I grabbed his hand before walking back to my tube. I spotted our new lieutenant, and I was able to see he was pretty damn fit for an officer. He then turned, and I spotted a tattoo on his right shoulder. A Celtic symbol of some kind. As I lay down, Bishop came around to paste electrodes to our bodies that keep track of our vitals while we're hibernating. I've been in cryosleep before, but that experience has changed a bit since I developed PTSD.

Dreaming in cryo is different from dreaming in natural sleep. Your dreams can be long and very vivid. I've heard that they can last for literally hours or even days in extended cryo. And you don't have the comfort of being able to wake up, breathe, and then go back to sleep. The machine can sense when your vitals go nuts during a nightmare, and it will pump a little more gas in to calm you down and send you back to more restful state . . . but then the nightmares will start back up again. I've only been in cryo a few times since my diagnosis. The first time was terrifying, and I was nearly removed from the mission because I was struggling to recover. My therapist wasn't present. Just Dietrich and the medic from one of the unit accompanying us. It took them awhile to get me to calm down and breathe, and, frankly, it was embarrassing, even though I know I don't have full control over my nightmares.

I've improved greatly when it comes to my PTSD. I haven't had a bad nightmare in months. My last thought before the tube closed on me was a prayer asking for gentle dreams.

* * *

I dreamt a wide variety of things in the three weeks I was out. First, I was running along the bottom of a canyon, trying to find my way out. There were a lot of bends and turns and the sun was beating down on me and I just couldn't stop running. I had to keep going, and I didn't know why. Finally, the canyon ended in a gently sloping hill leading aboveground. When I got out, I could stop running . . .

Only the hill was getting further and further away. I started panicking, and I screamed as the hill disappeared altogether.

I don't fully remember the next dream, but I know it involved a fancy ball with an ice chandelier and Hudson was dancing while drunk. I think he stripped down to his underwear at one point, but, like I said, I don't remember. It was probably a premonition about his wedding.

The final dream was equally fuzzy. I remember seeing a lot of snow and ice, a lot of tall pines with their branches weighed down by snow . . . similar to a dream I had when we went on that mission to LV-400.

If I had been sleeping normally, I would've jolted up.

I next became aware of my heart beating a little faster. Air rushed around me as I realized the cryotube was opening up, but I couldn't quite move yet. The lights above us flicked on, and I remained still, letting blood flow to my half-asleep form.

Someone coughed, and people began sitting up, trying to shake the cryo out. The civilian woman was looking around at us, observing us like we were zoo exhibits. I sat up next, feeling my nose was a tad stuffed up. Some people get a little clogged when they come out of cryo, and I'm no exception. I muttered something about how we're not paid enough to do this, to which Dietrich replied, "Not enough to wake up to your face, Drake."

_Fuck you._ "What? Is that a joke?" I was deep-down pissed that Dietrich said that not only in front of the civvie woman, but in front of the new lieutenant that was put in charge of us for this mission. Gorman. Now I remembered his name. I saw him getting out of his cryotube and stretching a little before looking around at us.

I tried not to make my embarrassment palpable. Before leaving my cryotube, I noticed Hicks looking at the woman. He gave her a very small smile, as if to tell her we were normally a harmless bunch and she had nothing to worry about.

Hudson was coughing as he got up, and then I heard him complain that the floor was freezing. I mean, he wasn't wrong, but it's not like anyone is going to give a couple shits.

Wierzbowski rubbed his face as he walked over to the lockers to get some clothes on. He sighed a little as Hudson danced past, making a beeline for his locker so he could get his socks on. In the meantime, Vasquez was already dressed and doing pull-ups using the bars hanging just below the ceiling. She then paused, and looked at Ferro, asking who the civilian woman was.

"She's supposed to be some kind of consultant," Ferro replied, adjusting her flightsuit. "Apparently, she saw an alien once."

"Whoopie-fucking-doo," Hudson snorted as he put on his T-shirt. "Hey, I'm impressed."

I agreed that I wasn't all that impressed, either. After all, each one of us has encountered some alien or another; me, especially, considering I'm friends with Doctor Delhoun, whose job is to study these little shits called Annexers.

I didn't think I was gonna miss the little guys, but I do. Don't tell anyone.

Smirking at Vasquez, I joined her in doing some pull-ups. She can do them much better than me, but that doesn't stop me from trying to either impress her or make her roll her eyes. Whether she likes to admit it or not, she's a showoff. And so am I. Sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes.

Gorman walked by us after getting dressed, taking a good long look at how we generally behave. He heard our typical locker room banter, and caught Wierzbowski gazing at a small photograph of himself and his wife on their honeymoon. Wierzbowski gave a sad sigh before tucking the picture away, and turned to face me. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped when he saw Gorman watching us from the corner of his eye.

"How long have you been married?" Gorman asked.

"It'll be two years this August," Wierzbowski replied.

Gorman held up his left hand to show us his ring. "Five in October. Kids?"

"No. We haven't . . . really discussed that much."

"Ah. I get it. All I've got at home are a couple of cats."

I half-expected Wierzbowski to start talking about how weird Eliza's cat can be sometimes, but I sensed he really wasn't in a talkative mood right now, which I can understand. I didn't say a word until Gorman walked away. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah," Wierzbowski replied. "Weird hypersleep dreams, that's all."

"Mine were a little odd, too. Hudson was only in his skivvies in one of them."

"I don't think that's a dream. That's a fucking nightmare."

I smirked. "At least the skivvies stayed on." My stomach grumbled a complaint about being empty for three weeks, so I wasted no time in pulling my cap out of my locker and flopped it on my head before joining everyone else in the mess hall.

Gorman was sitting across from the civvie woman, occasionally looking over at us. I sat next to Wierzbowski with my tray of the absolutely lowest tier of food you can serve a Marine, and waited for Bishop to pour orange juice in each of our glasses.

Conversations were mostly kept amongst ourselves until Spunkmeyer bitched, "What's this crap supposed to be?"

"Cornbread, I think," Frost replied.

"It's good for you, boy, eat it," Hicks added.

Spunkmeyer kept eating, but I could tell that he's had enough of bad cornbread. He went back to talking with Ferro. When he thought no one was looking, he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Hudson, of course, needed all the attention to be on him. If he wasn't trying to bribe you for your food, he was being loud and obnoxious about one thing or another. He pulled his service knife out of his belt, and started begging Bishop to "do the thing with the knife." In short, "the thing with the knife" is where you spread your fingers on a flat surface and stab the tip of the knife in between them as fast as you can while (hopefully) not stabbing yourself. I've done it a few times to myself, sometimes sober, sometimes not. Hudson had taught this to Bishop awhile back because we all wanted to see just how fast his android reflexes could go.

Bishop really didn't want to do it, but did it anyway. I sighed before getting up and marching over to put my arms around Hudson and force his hand on the table so Bishop could do the knife trick on _him_.

"Hey, what're you doing, man? What're you doing?" Hudson squirmed.

"Don't move," I said, holding him tighter. "Hudson, shut up."

"Quit messing around, Drake! Bishop, hey, man!" Hudson just about peed himself when Bishop put the knife between his fingers. "Hey, not me, man!"

"Yeah, you." I smirked.

Bishop looked at him, completely accepting of our behavior. "Trust me."

So he does the trick with the knife, and Hudson is screaming because one wrong move and he could lose a finger.

Apone eventually told us to knock it off, and Hudson was left staring at his hand and the knife in shock. I wouldn't be surprised if he actually did wet his pants. Placing his tray in front of him, I patted his arms before walking away. "Enjoy your meal."

"That wasn't funny, man," Hudson replied, clearly still amazed he had all his fingers.

I sat back down next to Wierzbowski, who really didn't have a reaction to what he just witnessed. Neither did Gorman, who looked wholly unimpressed. Hell, he looked sad, even, and a part of me was tempted to ask what was on his mind. Perhaps that wasn't the craziest thing he just witnessed, or he expected better behavior out of us.

I turned my focus back to Wierzbowski. I knew for damn sure his mind was clearly elsewhere. I was about to say something about how we were going to be home before we knew it, when a clattering sound interrupted all of us. We turned our heads to see the civilian woman had knocked a tray of cornbread out of Bishop's hands.

"Just stay away from me, Bishop, you got that straight?"

Some of us went back to our food. I looked at Hicks, who was calmly observing what went on while gently tapping the perpetual motion toy in the middle of the table.

"Guess she don't like the cornbread, either," Frost said.

"Honestly, who the fuck is this person?" I asked.

"Ripley. I was told she's the only survivor of an alien attack on a space-tug called the _Nostromo_. Drifted in cryo for fifty-seven years or some crazy number like that," Hicks replied.

"Jesus," I said. "Why get mad at Bishop, though?"

"Android on her last mission turned on the whole crew. She's gonna brief us on what happened later, so, behave."

* * *

I'm pretty sure there was a lot that I didn't understand about what was going on. We were gathered in the loading bay to hear Ripley and Gorman talk about what we were potentially going up against.

The way Ripley described this supposed alien was ringing a bell in my head. As she talked, the bell kept ringing, louder and louder . . .

_Attaches to the face, implants something, explodes out of the chest and becomes something bigger. Holy fuck, that's what we saw on LV-400._

To be real, I'm not surprised no one really remembered that. It was four years ago. While Ripley's encounter was a nightmare because her crew had no weapons, ours was nothing. Not to mention, the wild Annexers have dealt with it before. They had the situation way under control.

I stopped listening as I dug through my memories. I took a silent breath, suddenly feeling nauseated as I thought about LV-400 and its aftermath. The lab next to Gateway . . . the silver flowers.

_You're alright, Drake. Steady, boy._ I opened my eyes, resuming focus on the briefing.

"Drake, are you listening?"

I glanced forward to see Gorman looking at me.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm . . . listening . . . sir," I said, not wanting to tell him what I was thinking about.

"Stay behind when we're done with the briefing."

I frowned. Wierzbowski glanced at me from his place behind a stack of ordinance. I swallowed hard, afraid I was in trouble with our new officer.

Gorman didn't look upset, but I could tell Ripley was upset that we weren't acting like we were taking this seriously. First, I zoned out, then Hudson and Vasquez started being a couple of smartasses. Admittedly, I always appreciate Vasquez's confidence. Makes me feel good, no matter what, but it sure as hell pissed off Ripley, and she snapped, "Are you finished?" to them.

Yeah. Like you're our sergeant or lieutenant, lady. We all looked at her, silent, and I saw Gorman and Apone exchange a look. The look they gave us told us to just shut up and pay attention. No more goofing around.

* * *

When the briefing ended, Gorman beckoned for me to follow him. We walked a ways from the others, not wanting them to hear our conversation. I was still a little anxious, and remained silent until he spoke to me.

"You can say anything to me," he said. "What's going on?"

I looked down, though a part of me was afraid he'd tell me to look him in the eye. He didn't say anything, and just let me take my time. I didn't know how to say what was going on inside my head. "Nothing . . . Nothing I feel like I can discuss . . . at the moment."

Gorman nodded. "OK. That's understandable. Look, I won't have anyone get on that dropship unless they're certain they can do this."

I made eye contact with him. "I can do this."

"So, you're OK. You're positive you can go fight."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright." Gorman held out his hand. "Don't hesitate to say anything to me, Drake."

I nodded. "Thanks."

He patted my shoulder. "Go get suited up, son."

I headed down to the armory to prep my smartgun and get my harness on. Vasquez was already with hers, rubbing it down with a dust rag. We were alone, so I saw this as a perfect opportunity to talk. "We got some time. Mind if I . . . discuss something with you?"

"Is it about our meeting with the reps in a couple months?" she asked, not looking up from her weapon.

"Yeah, in a way. I know we've talked and . . . fantasized about this before, but I'm starting to think that we need to start . . . seriously talking about . . . you know, the m-word."

"You can say 'marriage,' Drake, I don't care."

"OK. Marriage. Yeah. I want to know your thoughts. Are you ready?"

Vasquez paused, tightly clutching the rag against the barrel of her smartgun. "If we are allowed to become civilians again, pop the question whenever you damn well want. I will say yes. Right now, I have no idea what . . . I'm good for as a civilian. I've been doing this for six years. I know of nothing else."

I thought for a moment. "Do you want to stay in the Marines? You know if you stay, I'll stay."

"I can't do that to you, Drake."

"I don't want you to be unhappy."

"And I don't want _you_ to be unhappy. I'll find something outside. I can become a cop or security guard or something similar."

"Alright. If that will make you happy."

"Being with you will make me happy. I don't have anyone else to confide in. You're it. Losing you would be like committing suicide. Does 'I love you' mean anything to you, dumbass?"

"As a matter of fact, it does." I put my arms around her, rubbing her arms and nuzzling her face. "I love you, too. I love you more than life itself. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want to be able to wake up next to you every single morning, and if you're still sleeping, I'm gonna kiss the tip of your nose until you wake up."

Vasquez was trying really hard not to smirk. "You're gonna have a lot of bruises from me punching you every morning."

"You're not upset I want Hudson as my best man, are you?"

"As long as he doesn't eat the fucking cake before we have a chance to look at it."

* * *

_Question: Can Drake be considered a reliable narrator for the events of "Aliens?" Why or why not?_

_Author's Note: First off, a massive thanks to Denal Douglas for providing me with a decent skeleton to work off for this alternate-scenario story. A good chunk of the ideas presented were from them, so I'm not taking full credit for everything.  
_

_Most of the twists and turns from the original come from two major points: Gorman being slightly more competent, and Burke being absent. I agree that this would increase the odds of the Marines surviving, however, the thing I'm going to struggle with the most is maintaining tension. That's pretty much it; I don't see much else that I'd have too much of a problem with.  
_

_Personally, it does feel a little weird to be writing in some of the film dialogue, even when it fits. That's just me. I'm finding it meshes really well with the "original" dialogue and Drake's internal monologue/journal entries. And it is fun to explore his psyche years after he starts his recovery from PTSD. It's still there, but his progress is much more apparent._


	2. Chapter 2

There's always a rush of anxiety and adrenaline when you're prepping to go out for a mission. No matter how many times you've gone out, it doesn't change. I always make sure I use the bathroom beforehand.

I had a feeling this would be my last mission before meeting with the civvie reps. Despite wishing I could leave tomorrow, I wanted to go out on a good note. I wanted to make Apone proud. I wanted to make Hicks proud. I wanted to make Ripley look at me and not have the impression that I was a juvenile felon.

Sitting in front of his locker, Hicks worked quickly to tighten the straps of his armor. In the past, he's taken his time with it, because, technically, it isn't his. Well, the chestplate isn't his.

I can remember the absolute turmoil Hicks went through when he found out an old friend of his, who'd died by suicide, had left him a couple of things, namely his armor. Hicks was pissed that it took six years for him to find out, and it led to some pretty heated conversations between him and General Paulson's widow. He snapped at everyone; me, Hudson, Wierzbowski, even Apone. Worst of all was his girlfriend. Needless to say, they're not together anymore, and it took a few months before Hicks was himself again.

When he started to emerge from his depressive shell, Hicks spent a lot of time alone with Paulson's armor. He really didn't want to do anything to it, but he had this feeling that wearing it in combat would be a good way to honor his old friend. He rubbed out Paulson's name, and stenciled in his own, but he left everything Paulson had put on there so many years ago. There was a big red heart with a lock over it, which Hicks was pretty sure meant that after Paulson got married, he put it there to show that his heart was closed to everyone except his wife. As of now, it makes no sense when you look at it and Hicks, because he's alone. It's a strange mishmash of Hicks's and Paulson's graffiti-Hicks had written "non-toxic" over his crotch guard, and he wrote "born again" over a bullet hole on his shoulder pad. Paulson had the heart, and a series of Japanese characters, as well as "lifer" written on the back.

Hicks also had "lifer" on his old armor. That's probably the only thing that makes sense until he really comes to apply what the rest means to him. With a cigarette in his mouth, he finished tightening the straps, and grabbed his scabbard containing a ridiculously old shotgun.

I've never really bothered to ask him why he has it. I hope that me asking doesn't dig up another series of fucked-up memories for him, but I won't ask until we come back.

Apone shouted at us to get our gear, get our weapons, get Hudson to move faster, and get on the ready line. We were then loaded up in the APC, which was driven into the dropship. I was wedged between Vasquez and Dietrich, and glanced over at Wierzbowski, who gave me a small grin.

Hudson obviously had a lot of energy this morning. He was trying to pump everyone up, and then Hicks grabbed him like he was a two-year-old escaping his mother, and pulled him down into his seat before Ferro counted down to the dropship.

"We're on an express elevator to hell! Going down!" Hudson chirped.

I could feel my stomach bracing itself for the drop, and then it shot itself in my throat as the dropship abruptly fell away from the _Sulaco_. Hudson was whooping and cheering and making me wish I could just puke on him to make him shut up (then again, Miranda would kill me if I did that to her "precious baby," so . . . maybe another day).

"Drake, there's something wrong with your camera. I'm not getting a visual," Gorman said through my headset.

_Of course, it's my camera that doesn't work. Of fucking course. _Sighing, I whacked the headset against the brace of the seat. That should work.

Hudson was up and talking again. He was hanging onto the ceiling, trying to avoid falling from the turbulence. "Ready, man. Ready to get it on. Check it out. I am the _ultimate_ badass!" He began showing Ripley all the weapons we had, and, naturally, he exaggerated quite a bit. I didn't pay much attention to anything he said, but I was watching him.

I remember my mind had wandered during most of the drop. My nausea was slowly fading, and the rocking and rolling of the dropship wasn't helping. Because of that, I find myself staring into space, though it looked like I was staring at Hudson and his display of . . . well, Hudson-ness.

Considering we're all in the APC, we can't see anything outside the ship. I could hear Gorman relaying instructions to Ferro and Spunkmeyer, but, like I just mentioned, half of me wasn't paying attention.

Hicks was asleep, so, at least I wasn't the worst at paying attention today.

* * *

I've been in a lot of bad situations before, mission-wise. While none of them top my experience with the silver flowers, they all had a couple things in common, one thing being that I had a nervous twinge in my stomach before anything even happens. I'm no psychic, but I think we're all capable of sensing when something is going to get nasty.

The dropship landed, and Bishop drove the APC out into the rain.

When the APC stopped, I knew damn well that I probably wouldn't see the mild comfort of it for some time. We jogged out into the miserable weather, positioning ourselves where Apone told us.

"Hudson, run a bypass," Apone ordered.

Hudson dashed up to the door leading into one of the colony complexes. As I waited, I sniffed the air. Everything had a very dirty, dusty smell to it. Beyond the protective barriers of the colony, I could see oddly shaped mountains, and nothing but gray as far as the eye could see. Who'd want to live here is beyond me. It reminded me of pictures in one of my high school textbooks of artists' impressions of what prehistoric Earth was like. Dark, dismal, haunting, and foreboding. This isn't a place you want to be. This isn't a place I want to be right now. The sheer emptiness and atmosphere of perpetual misery wouldn't mix well with my mental health if I stayed here for much longer.

After Hudson bypassed the lock, we moved into the colony. The whole place seemed deserted in a hurry. We spotted several things that suggested whatever happened left no time for people to gather their personal belongings. Despite the emptiness, it seemed obvious this place wasn't going to be the next LV-510. I mean, that was obvious when I stepped out of the APC. LV-510 is extremely Earth-like. LV-426 is not. Even LV-400 would be a better place to set up a colony than this fucking rock.

I could see signs for bars and small establishments. A small part of me wondered just how people managed to live here on a day-to-day basis. It's probably different if you were born here, but I imagine it was miserable for those who decided this was better than Earth or LV-510 or any other civilized place. Hell, maybe it wasn't miserable. Maybe this was a better job, an adventure, an opportunity. Maybe people were making lots of money here so they could jump on the next cruiser to a better place.

I couldn't live here for any amount of time. Not with my stupid brain. Nope.

As we entered one building in the complex, I glanced behind me at Ripley, who was being seemingly guarded by Hicks and Wierzbowski until we went further in. Wierzbowski got with me, and Hicks and Hudson partnered up, as they always have on every mission. When we came across what was once a barricade, I took notice of the fact that whole thing had been torn off. No human being could've done that.

There was a lot of slow scanning around. We'd find more and more evidence that this wasn't a mass exodus, but it was still dead silent, aside from people reporting there were signs of a struggle, and large holes burned in the floor.

Then Hudson's voice filled our headsets. "Got something, man. Got something . . ."

I could faintly hear the motion tracker through my headset, and I glanced back at Wierzbowski. I was about to say something about what we should do if Hudson had picked up something hostile, but then I heard something crash, followed by Hudson growling.

Hicks gave a slightly annoyed sigh, which everyone with a headset could hear. "You doing OK over there, Hudson?"

"Uh, sir?" Hudson said, referring to Gorman, "we have a negative situation here. Moving on, sir."

I gave Wierzbowski a baffled look before tapping my headset. "What the fuck did you find, dumbass?"

"I believe . . . hamsters, man."

Wierzbowski was resisting the urge to smile as we continued moving through the complex.

I sighed. "I swear to God, he's losing more and more brain cells every fucking day," I muttered.

I was certainly starting to believe that something a lot worse had happened to the colonists, and that was confirmed when we entered the medical wing of the complex.

The stasis tubes in the lab each contained the ugliest creature you've ever seen, and two of them were still alive. The best way I can describe it is a flesh-colored spider with long legs and two sac-like things near its long tail. Every time you got close, they'd lunge at you, probing the thick glass with this little tube coming out of its underside. I glanced around at everyone, unsure of what to say or do. One thing did slip, though, and I said it to Ripley. "Hey, does this look familiar?"

I know that someone suffering from trauma doesn't want to hear that, unless it comes from their therapist. A few years ago, I wouldn't want somebody saying that to me when they come across a silver flower, but this situation was a little different.

She said nothing to me, and nodded.

We also came across numerous accounts of surgery gone wrong when attempting to remove these things from people's faces, and while Bishop requested supplies to study the dead things, Gorman ordered Hudson to locate the colonists through the complex's computer system.

The rest of us kept searching nearby. I was put out in front, very slowly and cautiously sweeping my smartgun back and forth with each step.

I heard a scuffling sound that was too big to be a hamster, and then something tried running out in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and started firing. Then Wierzbowski forced my weapon upwards with his pulse rifle. I stopped firing, and glared at him. "Fuck off."

Ignoring me, Wierzbowski went toward the hole in the wall that whatever-it-was had just ran into. He knelt, and looked inside with his shoulder lamp. "Bloody hell," he whispered. Turning back to face us, he added. "We've got ourselves a survivor. It's a little girl."

I sighed. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. Look for yourself, Drake."

I did. Wierzbowski was right; there was the filthiest young girl I've ever seen, cowering in a mess of debris, blankets, empty food packets, and old toys. I looked back up at the big guy. "You wanna get her out?"

Both Wierzbowski and I tried to coax the girl out, with no luck. She didn't respond to anything we said. I was a little surprised to see Ripley give it a go, trying to tell her that we weren't gonna hurt her. I can't blame the girl for not believing her the first time because stupid me tried to shoot her. The only thing that happened was the girl trying to take off. Ripley went after her, while I turned to Wierzbowski. "If she gets lost, I'm not going after her."

* * *

I don't know how she did it, but Ripley managed to get the girl and take her back to the med lab so Dietrich could look over her. Gorman was observing them, and I noticed Dietrich looked a little nervous whenever he walked near her. No, she looked _pained_. I know she hates people watching her work, and I could tell she wanted to tell Gorman to leave her alone, but couldn't, likely due to his rank. I was alternating between pacing the lab and the room where Hudson was trying to locate the rest of the colonists.

"Anything?" I asked.

"Nope, not yet, man," Hudson replied. "You doing OK?"

"We found someone."

Hudson glanced at me, gray eyes shining from the light of the computer monitor. "You mean a colonist?"

"Yeah. A little girl."

Shaking his head, Hudson looked back at the screen. "Jesus. Is she OK?"

"Dietrich's looking at her. She's not talking to anybody, so far."

"Well, I can't imagine she just got off a cutesy little ride in the kiddie section of the amusement park. Might take a bit before she says something to anyone."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gorman switch his gaze to us. "She might know something about where the rest of the colonists are."

"I don't think now is a good time to question her," I replied. _Because I know what it's like to be traumatized and not want to talk to anyone about it. _"I'll let you know if she wants to, though." I patted Hudson's shoulder before leaving the room.

When I returned to the med lab, the girl was saying something to Ripley, along the lines of, "They're dead, alright? Can I go now?"

I guess she did try asking about the rest of the colonists. I leaned against the wall, quietly observing where the girl couldn't see me. Part of me thinks she knows I almost shot her, and that she knew I was there.

I know for a fact that no one in our unit has children. Despite not really knowing much about her, I got a sense that Ripley did, at one point or another. She did have fifty-seven years of her life wasted in hypersleep, and although she didn't age, her kids must have. Worse yet, they might be gone. I have a feeling that's why she's here; she would've packed up and left Gateway if she had somebody waiting for her down on Earth.

The closest I got to bonding with a kid was a boy named Casey. He was ten when I met him at a beach in the Bahamas-roughly the same age as this girl-but I know he's fourteen now. Not that long after, I rescued him from underneath the rubble of his home after a hurricane blew through, and because we couldn't find his parents, he stayed with us for a little while. Overall, he made me feel like I'd be a good parent in the future.

"Yo!" Hudson called. "Stop your grinning and drop your linen. Found 'em."

We were looking at a cluster of dots underneath the colony's atmospheric processing station. Gorman and Hicks studied it alongside Hudson, who then said, "You guys all realize this bitch is a nuke, right?" He primarily directed his gaze toward Gorman after saying that.

"Most small colonies like this one have atmosphere processors that are nuclear-operated," Gorman replied. "Not much of a surprise to me." He muttered something to himself, then sighed. "If it comes down to it, we can't use certain weapons in there. Could risk damaging the cooling system."

"Well, what can we use?" I asked.

"We got flamethrowers, man," Hudson said. "Whaddaya say, Lieutenant?"

"How many flamethrowers do we have right now?" Gorman asked.

"Two."

"Alright. I'm gonna send some of you back to the _Sulaco_ to grab more, plus some M322 automatic shotguns. Wierzbowski, Frost, Crowe, you'll go back up on the dropship."

With the little girl trailing her, Ripley looked over Gorman's shoulder to see what was going on. "If any of these people are still alive, we don't have time to go back to _Sulaco_."

"If this fucking processor has a meltdown, no one's gonna be still alive, man," Hudson said.

* * *

I can't stand forever with my smartgun. At one point, I had to sit down, and let my thoughts flood to the forefront of my mind.

Hicks walked over to me, hands on his hips. "Don't let your guard down too much, Drake."

"I'm not," I said, smirking, petting my smartgun. "I can fire this baby prone if I have to."

"Are you doing OK . . ." Hicks looked over his shoulder at Ripley, who was wiping the dirt and grime from the girl's face, "mentally?" he whispered.

I shrugged. "We haven't seen any action yet, and I'm a little anxious."

Hicks knelt by me. "If it makes you feel better, I'm in the same boat as you. We avoided disaster with the processor, but I still feel like we're about to get ourselves in some serious shit."

I nodded.

Hicks got up, and turned to face Ripley. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Not at the moment," she replied, not looking up at him.

Hicks took a breath. "Look . . . I get the feeling you're upset we can't immediately go down to the plant."

"I'm not upset. The evidence is right there." She gestured to the stasis tubes. "_They_ used everyone as hosts. What you're seeing on the monitors are the corpses of every man, woman, and child that lived here."

"Unfortunately, we don't know that yet. Others could be alive." He looked at the girl. "She survived. No reason somebody else couldn't." He offered a weak smile, but got none in return. "Did you get a name?"

"Newt. Her name's Newt," Ripley said.

"Cool." Hicks held out his hand. "I'm Hicks. Over there's Drake. I know he seems a little rough, but-" Hicks's gaze softened, "he's really a big sweetheart. So's Hudson, but he can't be bothered right now."

I was surprised at how quickly Newt took to us, but she remained close to Ripley most of the time as we continued to wait for the other guys to return with extra flamethrowers. When we got word that the guys were coming back, I went through one of our supply bags for a small ration pack, and then sat on the floor with my smartgun carefully propped up against me.

"Hey, man, toss me one of those cakes if you got 'em," Hudson said.

"No. I'm not giving you my food. Get your own."

"Then toss me a ration pack, man."

I did, and it smacked him in the side of the face.

"Thanks, man."

"Whatever." I opened my pack, and began pulling out the stuff I wanted to eat. Personally, I've always felt the field rations are a small step above ship rations. You're supposed to be in hypersleep for the majority of your trip, so it's no surprise that little thought goes into what's served. If you opt to bring any food any all.

While squeezing a packet of peanut butter on a cracker, I caught Newt staring at me. I did feel bad that I almost shot her, and I had a feeling that forgiving me was going to take some time.

Then again, if we return to Earth, what are the odds we're ever going to see each other again?

That's not the point. I don't want to deal with any kind of guilt anymore. It destroyed me once. It can do it again.

I'm supposed to be part of the team rescuing her. The least I could do was make her feel comfortable around me. After placing another cracker on top of the one covered in peanut butter, I tried breaking it in half, and held it out to her. "Want some?"

Hudson rolled his eyes. "But you won't share your food with me, man. Thought we were friends."

I ignored him, continuing to hold the half sandwich cracker out to the girl. "I don't bite. Just take it."

Hicks looked at me, his arms folded over his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided to let things play out as they were.

Shyly, Newt took what I offered. She sat across from me, gently nibbling on the cracker.

"This is the best we got, so, I'm sorry." I smirked a little. "It's better than what we got on our ship."

"You know, speaking of ships," Hicks said. "I think it might be a good idea we leave Newt with Spunkmeyer and Ferro when they get back. If something happens at the processor, we don't need her getting lost or hurt." He looked at Ripley. "What do you say? I'd trust Spunkmeyer and Ferro with my life. They'll take care of her, I promise."

I snorted. "Ferro, yeah, but with Spunkmeyer, it depends on what kinda mood he's in."

Hicks looked at me. "Would you rather wait outside with her?"

"No." I glanced at Newt. "Not saying that to be mean. If Vasquez is going with you, I'm going, too. That's my job."

"Your job is to protect people," Ripley said. "If you went out with the dropship, you'd still be doing your job."

"Oh, who are you to tell me what my fucking job is?"

Hicks glared at me. "Drake-"

"I don't care what her reason is for being here. The only people 'round here who can tell me what to do are Apone and Gorman."

"And me, smartass." Hicks leaned over to grab the front of my armor. "You wanna go to your hearing in two months? Knock it off."

I said nothing. After Hicks let go, I stood up to go find somewhere else to sit.

* * *

When the dropship returned, Frost, Wierzbowski, and Crowe helped us exchange our weapons. Hicks walked over to Spunkmeyer, holding Newt's hand and guiding her along slowly. "Can you two do us a favor?" Hicks asked.

"Sure, go ahead," Spunkmeyer replied, setting his helmet on the dashboard.

"Watch over Newt for us, OK?" Hicks knelt to look her in the eye. "Be nice to Spunkmeyer and Ferro, alright, honey? They're gonna make sure nothing happens to you so we can all go home." He smiled warmly, and managed to get a smile out of Newt as well. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

Nodding, Gorman looked over at Ferro and Spunkmeyer. "Be careful, and don't let your guards down, alright? At least one of you needs to be armed."

Frost held out a flamethrower to Hicks as he stood up, but Hicks waved it off before opening the scabbard strapped to his back. "I like to keep this handy-" he clutched it tight, smiling a little, "for close encounters. Save the fuel for somebody else."

It's been a long time since I've seen Hicks actually use his mythical shotgun. He does prefer it to his pulse rifle in particularly close combat situations, or when we're in disaster relief zones. I believe I've said before that it's really, really old, and that I don't know the full story behind it.

We climbed back into the APC, all of us carrying flamethrowers and automatic shotguns. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.

_Stop thinking about LV-400. Stop thinking about LV-400. Stop thinking . . ._

My heartbeat kept getting louder, but I heard Wierzbowski say, "Drake? Drake, are you alright?"

"He's gonna pass out, man, stop the vehicle." The last thing I saw before my vision went black was Hudson getting out of his seat to come over to me.

* * *

_Question: How could taking care of Newt, even though it could be for a short time, effect Ferro and Spunkmeyer's relationship?  
_

_Author's Note: One interesting deleted scene (that I can't remember if it was included in the Alien Quadrilogy or Anthology DVD set) shows Drake saying, "Who cares? Let's go, leave her," after the Marines' encounter with Newt. That would definitely not earn him any brownie points if it was included in the final cut, or in this story._


	3. Chapter 3

I felt the APC come to a sudden halt. "Drake, don't do this now," Dietrich hissed. She quickly started taking my blood pressure and temperature. "Dammit, Drake . . ."

"Don't be that way, Dietrich," Wierzbowski said, resisting a sigh.

"What's going on?" Ripley asked, rather sternly.

"He's making himself pass out!" Dietrich shouted, slamming her bag down on the floor.

"He's not 'making himself pass out!'" Wierzbowski replied.

"If you're so smart, 'Ski, why don't you tell us what's wrong!"

"You know what's wrong! Give him some water, for Christ's sake! You're not helping him by yelling at him and making him feel like a fucking burden!"

"You're not helping by making up excuses," Crowe muttered.

"Piss off."

"Nobody's helping, man!" Hudson shouted, plucking a cold canteen from a supply bag. "Jesus." He pressed the canteen to my forehead, and then handed it to me when I came around so I could drink from it. "Alright, Bishop, we can keep moving, man!"

The APC lurched forward, and I sipped from the canteen until I felt better. I had no time to think about what's been going through my head all day, because we were approaching the massive atmospheric processing plant.

Once inside, we began heading to the lower levels. As we did, it gradually got hotter and drier, and something stank really bad.

I have smelled some pretty rancid things over the years. Yes, I've smelled rotting human corpses. It burns the inside of your nose and it twists your stomach until you puke. Never in my life have I ever smelled over a _hundred_ corpses rotting together.

I thought back to my short time in high school, when we were shown the infamous photographs of German concentration camps in World War II. We read accounts of American and British soldiers describing what they saw and smelled and heard in graphic detail. Thousands of dead bodies all at different stages of decomposition.

This was just as bad, if not worse. The only difference was that these people had been stuck to the walls of this disgusting structure and all of them had gaping holes in their chests. Some of them had dried-up organ parts hanging out of those holes.

Taking a breath was difficult. The heat and smell made it impossible, and I tried not to think about it. The stink and the contorted expressions of sheer pain on the faces of the corpses, frozen forever, were making it more and more difficult to keep my mind at bay.

Dietrich came across a body that was still warm, but had the same hole in the chest as all the others. Blood and a line of destroyed sinew were dripping from it. When my shoulder lamp hit the hole, I could clearly see that something had fucked up this woman's chest cavity. I struggled to not feel sick, but I think you'd be insane to not feel even a small twinge in your gut.

"This is pretty recent," Dietrich said, glancing over her shoulder at Gorman and Apone. "Maybe an hour or two. Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet."

The motion trackers had been silent in the plant until now. "Getting movement, here, man," Hudson said. He and Vasquez turned, looking for the source of the movement. They moved slightly away from the group.

We were all somewhat spread out now. Wierzbowski and I were looking down one hallway, which was completely covered with the same black, ribbed resin. There were a couple of dead spider-hand things laying on the ground, like the ones in the lab. On the walls were more disfigured bodies. Some were becoming coated in the resin.

"Nothing down here but more corpses, and dead-" I kicked one of the spider things, "whatever the fuck these are."

Something didn't feel right, and I wasn't the only one feeling it.

"I'm willing to just assume there are no survivors," Wierzbowski said to me. "We should get out of here."

I was ready to head back to Gorman, and then we heard screaming. Without thinking, Wierzbowski and I ran to Hudson and Vasquez, and that's when we saw _it_.

Emerging from the wall was a black, skeletal beast with an elongated skull. There were several tubes protruding from its back, and I spotted a very long and bladed tail uncurling behind it. It had no eyes to be seen, and its sharp jaws seemed fixed in a permanent, hideous grin. My heart was skipping beats as my mind threw up memories of LV-400, flashing them before my vision. I could vividly see this same creature throwing itself out into the snow, hissing as the Annexers ran around to attack it.

Snow and acid blood were flying everywhere as the Annexers and this monster did battle. There was hissing and screaming and howling, and then I heard Hudson shouting, followed by the shooting of his flamethrower. The creature screeched as the fire seared across its hard skin. Vasquez cursed as she joined Hudson in dousing the thing in flames, but this damn well wasn't over when it fell to the ground, hissing and screeching.

Motion trackers started beeping wildly, and we spotted more and more of the same creature crawling on the walls and ceiling.

"Pair up. Watch each other's backs," Gorman instructed.

I backed against Wierzbowski. The big guy almost pushed me over as he got against me as well. I could almost hear the air rushing in and out of his lungs through his armor, he was breathing so hard.

"I want no blind spots, period-Ripley, get back to the APC, now!"

I was dizzy from the sudden onslaught of memories, and I kept pressing against Wierzbowski. The creatures kept coming, leaving us with no choice but to start firing.

The passageway turned into an oven rather quickly. People were shooting their flamethrowers left and right, and it was becoming difficult to stay with our backs against our partners. Wierzbowski kept looking over his shoulder at me, and would swiftly face forward to shoot a jet of fire at an oncoming alien.

If the flames didn't kill them right away, the creatures were definitely royally pissed off. A black, bony arm suddenly grabbed Wierzbowski's leg and tried to drag him down. He landed hard on his tailbone, almost dropping his weapon. For a man of his size, the aliens had no trouble pulling him back toward the dark tunnels of their hive.

"Get your head down!" I hollered, right before unleashing a stream of flame at his abductor. The creature screeched before turning away, leaving Wierzbowski with him. I slung the flamethrower over my shoulder before grabbing him under his arms and pulling him up.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe and the pangs in my chest were smashing down years of work I had put in trying to beat back my PTSD. Shaking my head to try and get those thoughts out, I was suddenly knocked to the ground by a long, spindly claw. A flickering shadow loomed over me, and I heard a hiss. The hissing turned to screeching as fire enveloped the shadow.

"_Drake, come on!_" Wierzbowski grabbed my arm to pull me out of the passageway.

"They're still coming!" Vasquez hollered. "Where's Drake?"

"I got him!" Wierzbowski whirled around to blast fire into the eyeless face of an alien staring at him, jaws parted to reveal a second set of teeth inside. Black claws snagged his upper leg, and he cursed as blood started to soak through his trousers.

"Move, man! You heard the lieutenant! Keep going! Bishop's gonna pick us up soon!" Hudson got in front of Vasquez, screaming at an alien retreating from his flamethrower, "_Why dontcha come back and suck on it?! That's right, run, motherfucker!"_

My heartbeat was beginning to drown out all other sounds. All I could see were claws and fire and . . .

Broken glass.

Delhoun's silhouette as he broke down the lab door.

_I can't let this happen now. I can't._

I was experiencing a terrifying blend of flashback and reality as I continued pressing back with the others, pausing occasionally to shoot. Out of all the nightmares I've had, this one was the worst. Mainly because it was real and actually happening. I knew I would see it in my sleep for a long, long time to come.

A loud crash jolted me from my memories, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the APC had smashed right through the gates of the station. The vehicle's turrets spun slowly, decimating each oncoming monster with large bullets. The doors opened, and we started pulling each other inside.

Still the creatures came. Hudson screamed at the top of his lungs as one of them tried to grab the back of his armor. Crowe's flamethrower nearly singed part of his helmet off, but Hudson was able to scramble free and throw himself into the APC. Wierzbowski threw his arm around Crowe, yanking the smaller man in the vehicle.

"Is that everyone?" Gorman hollered.

"Except my bladder, man," Hudson moaned. "I may've tinkled a little out there."

Unimpressed by Hudson's lack of composure, Apone gave the signal for Bishop to start driving.

* * *

Wierzbowski knelt by me, helping me sit up. "Drake? Are you OK?"

I coughed before grabbing a canteen of water. I realized, after gulping down the water and setting the half-empty canteen on my lap, that I was crying. Wierzbowski saw, too, and he tried shielding me from the view of everyone else.

"Is anybody hurt?" Hicks asked.

"I got some scratches on my left leg," Wierzbowski asked. "Nothing major."

Hudson's face was covered in soot. His earlier confidence had all but faded. "I'm alright, man. I don't wanna go back in there."

"Nobody does."

My heart was still pounding. The screaming from human and alien alike was still ringing in my ears. Something deep inside was demanding I curl up into a ball and just hide until we returned to the _Sulaco_. I wanted to talk with someone alone, but I knew that wasn't possible right now. I was going to have to do what my therapist said I shouldn't ever do; I had to cram my emotions down my throat. Every thought and feeling not relating to our task at hand needed to be tossed away.

"What're we gonna do, man?" Hudson asked, his composure becoming nothing more than a ghost in his eyes. "There's nothing we can do. All the colonists're dead and there's no point in trying to salvage this place, man! We may as well go home! Get the fuck outta here!"

"Hudson, relax!" Vasquez shouted.

"You saw those things! I ain't staying here and letting 'em kill us!"

"Knock it off, both of you!" Apone yelled over them. "Now, listen, we're going back to the labs to start talking this over. Hicks, let Ferro know where we're going."

"Yes, sir." Hicks tapped a button on his helmet. "Hey, Ferro?" He waited a minute. "Ferro?"

It was like the oxygen had been sucked from the vehicle. The blood drained from Hicks's face. He tapped another button. "Spunkmeyer? Spunkmeyer, do you copy?"

Hudson put his head in his hands. He was breathing almost as hard as I was just a few minutes ago. "God, no . . . God, no, man . . ."

"Shit." Hicks looked at Gorman. "Let's head back to the dropship, now."

The APC bounced along the landscape as we raced back to the dropship. I think we were all trying to process the worst case scenario in our heads. We were all trying to figure out how we'd react to seeing Spunkmeyer, Ferro, and the little girl either torn up or taken away to be hosts for more of these monsters' spawn.

Frankly, I'd rather see them torn to bits. Ultimately, I don't want to see that at all.

I want us all to go home.

I want to go home.

I've never really considered anywhere to be home, but, overall, Earth is home. Not to mention, I do have a place waiting for me when I'm discharged, thanks to the late Doctor Hornby's will. I want to go there, with Vasquez, and start making plans for civilian life.

For now, I have to worry about making sure every single one of my teammates gets home as well. A good number of us are nearing the ends of our contracts. Hudson, for instance. I want to make sure he goes home to his girlfriend and proposes to her. Wierzbowski's got a wife waiting for him. The majority of us have loved ones.

The only ones who don't are me, Vasquez, Spunkmeyer, and Crowe. All we have is our unit.

When we got out of the APC, I expected to see huge swaths of blood and flesh and organ bits on the ground. Instead, I saw the carcass of an alien, Ferro shaking while holding a pulse rifle, and Spunkmeyer holding Newt tightly. I didn't bother hiding my relief. "What the fuck happened?"

Ferro gestured to the carcass with her weapon. "That happened." She took a breath. "Spunkmeyer was by the ramp with Newt, and got jumped. He was trying to shield her with his body. I was yelling at him to get out of the way so I could shoot it. I couldn't respond to Hicks, I'm sorry!"

"It's OK, relax," Hicks said. "Is everyone alright?"

No, not exactly. When I looked again, I noticed Spunkmeyer had several long, deep scratches across the back of his right shoulder. There were burn-holes from the creature's acidic blood on the base of his jacket, and the thing had burned several uneven dips in the landing pad we were standing on. At least it didn't damage the dropship.

I could see Newt's dirty sleeves around Spunkmeyer's neck. Her head was buried in his chest, and I heard Spunkmeyer whispering, "It's gone . . . It's gone, sweetheart." He grunted in pain, blood running down his back and soaking his jacket.

Ripley was able to pull Newt away so Dietrich could get to work on Spunkmeyer. The rest of us were starting to become annoyed and frustrated.

"Who else is starting to agree with Hudson that we need to get outta here ASAP?" Frost asked.

"No one wanted to come here in the first fucking place," I grumbled.

"I'm not leaving until we come up with a way to destroy every last creature in this damn colony," Ripley said, icily.

"Right, and I'm Santa Claus."

"Drake, that's enough," Apone replied.

"It's not like we're gonna set up camp here," Gorman said over us. "Let's get back to operations. Nobody is to stay outside, period."

* * *

No one was allowed to walk around without a weapon. While Gorman talked with Hicks, Apone, Ferro, Bishop, and Ripley, the rest of us remained in another room. Dietrich was bandaging Spunkmeyer and cleaning out his wounds as best she could.

"Will we be going soon?"

I glanced over at Newt. It appeared she had said this to no one in particular, not really sure if any of us would respond. "I have no idea," I replied. "I'll punch somebody if it isn't soon enough."

"Drake, I really hope they don't lock you away on Gateway for how you've been acting this whole trip," Wierzbowski said, setting down his flamethrower to pick up Newt and set her next to him on the table.

"Any idiot would see that this is a waste of . . . time . . ." I stopped, realizing that I was partly wrong. Hell, I was kinda staring at why I was wrong, and she was snuggled next to Wierzbowski. "I'm sorry."

Hudson was giving me a dirty look. He opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced by Vasquez glaring at him. "Well, even though we didn't save everyone else, we got one person out, right, man? That's all that matters."

"Yeah. I was talking about whatever the fuck _they're_ doing in the next room," I said.

"They're talking about getting out of here and destroying whatever's left of that hive," Wierzbowski replied, letting Newt sit on his lap. "Just be patient, Drake."

"I've been patient for far too long." I was beginning to feel everything I tried to suppress boiling to the surface, and I realized I needed to just shut up. If I shut up, no one would get mad at me. If no one got mad at me, I wouldn't snap at them. It was that simple. I looked down at my boots, attempting to push everything back inside. It's still a really painful thing to do.

Dietrich and Spunkmeyer joined us a few minutes later. Spunkmeyer was walking a little stiffly, and looked wiped out from the pain meds Dietrich hopped him up on. He grabbed his torn, bloody jacket from a chair, and looked at the rest of us. Before he could take a seat, he was grabbed in a hug by Newt. "Hey, when you see Ferro, make sure you give her a hug, too, OK? She did most of the saving," he said, softly.

Newt did run up to Ferro when everyone returned from their little meeting. We all looked at Gorman and Apone, knowing they had the final say as to what was going to happen next.

"Please tell me we're going home, man," Hudson moaned.

"Not quite," Hicks replied. "We're gonna blow the whole fucking colony beforehand."

"Well, that should be easy enough," I muttered.

"Hold your horses, there, Drake, we're not done."

"No. Not only are we obliterating the colony, we're gonna go find where the colonists may have brought these lifeforms from," Gorman added.

I glanced around the room. "You're kidding, right?"

"It's not all that far. We can blow up the ship with what we have, and send the processor into meltdown with only a few shots," Ripley said.

"The ship?"

"Yes. That's where the eggs are. It's some kind of alien ship, carrying hundreds of eggs."

"If it's an alien ship, how do we know we can destroy it with a nuclear blast, or anything at all?"

"That's why we're going there in person to rig it with explosives," Gorman said. "We're not risking someone else stumbling across it and creating a mess just as bad as this one. Given that we ourselves don't want to be caught in the blast, we're rigging the derelict first, and then doing a simple flyby to destroy the reactor."

I narrowed my eyes, giving Ripley an icy glare. "If something happens to any of us, it's your fault."

She gave me a similar glare. "I didn't infect this colony, Drake. I didn't infect it, and I certainly didn't order it to be built so close to the derelict. Your bullshit hasn't exactly been helping much, either."

I stood up. "_My_ bullshit?! Who made the USCM send us out here so we could investigate this? Not me!"

Wierzbowski rubbed his face.

The control I had over my emotions was gone. "Trust me when I say that I know what it's like to want to destroy the thing that fucked up your life. I get it, I really do. But no one appreciates it when you drag them along, and it only causes them pain, too! None of us want to stay here, and risk getting ourselves killed for your personal vendetta! We want to go home! We came, we saw what happened to the colonists, we rescued who we could, and now we need to leave! We'll blow the fucking complex, but that's it! I refuse to go out to th-this derelict!"

Ripley kept her stern gaze on me. "This isn't just a personal vendetta, Drake! My whole crew was killed by just one of these things! Look at what happened to a small colony. Imagine if more of them got to a bigger establishment, or _Earth_. You won't have a home to go back to if that happens."

Hicks glanced at me. "I think there's something else going on here, Drake."

"I'm not telling you in front of her," I growled.

"Fine. Let's go out in the hallway and talk." Hicks checked his shotgun, and handed me my flamethrower before we walked out, away from everyone else. His gaze softened a little. "Alright, what's going on?"

I took a breath. "I thought I had my flashbacks and shit under control." I shook my head. "Back in the processor . . . when we were trying to get out . . . I just-I couldn't breathe. It came flooding back. I was hearing things that I knew weren't happening, and yet it felt like they were."

Hicks nodded a little. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because it's not important."

"Drake, that's not true. You know that. I know you're not mad at Ripley. You don't think this was a waste of time. Ranelli told you that your PTSD can't be cured, but it can be managed. I understand that it's difficult to manage it in situations like this, but you have to. Somebody could get hurt or killed."

"That's the problem. I'm just shoving everything away, and I know that's not wrong. It's just gonna come back and explode."

"Look, I don't wanna say this, but you're gonna have to let that happen. You've experienced this cycle before. You know that you're so much better at bouncing back than you were a few years ago. Trust yourself, OK? I know you can do that. Besides, you have your meeting in a couple months. They'll let you go, and you'll be able to put more focus on what you truly want to do."

I nodded, feeling a small weight lift from my shoulders.

"Tell me, what do you want to do when you leave the Corps? Be honest; I won't think any of it is silly or impossible."

I looked Hicks in the eye, figuring I had hid this from him long enough. He trusts me. It's only fair I trust him. "Vasquez and I are gonna get married."

Instead of confusion or anger, Hicks smiled broadly. "Don't forget to invite the rest of us to your wedding, alright? Lemme guess, Hudson's going to be your best man?"

"I agreed to be his. We had a deal. I mean, maybe I should ask Wierzbowski, but I think that'll piss off Hudson and we don't need that."

Hicks's grin got bigger. "Hey, you'll make a great husband, and I think you'll make a good father, too, you know, if you and Vasquez decide to have children." He looked over his shoulder. "You feel better?"

Again, I nodded.

"Good. Let's go back in, you're gonna apologize to Ripley, and don't argue with us about anything. This is it for you. In less than six months, you'll be on your own, living your own life. I want to see you succeed. Apone wants to see you succeed. Hudson, Wierzbowski, Ferro, Spunkmeyer, we _all_ want to see you succeed in your civilian life. Don't quit now."

* * *

_Question: What do you think Drake will have the hardest time with in regards to adapting to civilian life?_


	4. Chapter 4

Hicks and I went back into the lab to see no one had really moved. My gaze settled on Spunkmeyer; with the rips in his jacket, I could easily see the bandages beneath, and they were starting to become soaked with fresh blood.

Hicks nudged me in Ripley's direction. "Apologize, OK? You don't need to write her a book. Just say you're sorry for being a dick."

I sighed. There was still a part of me that didn't want to apologize, but I knew Hicks was going to rip me a new asshole if I didn't. Frankly, I didn't see why Hicks was taking Ripley's side. Was he just being polite? I think he was just being polite. If he legitimately likes her, I pity him. Carlisle was at least a nice person, and not unbearable to be around.

Gorman and Apone were discussing the minute details of the plan to blow up the derelict ship containing the eggs. I could also hear Bishop's input about how if there are hundreds of eggs, the derelict could be a significantly larger hive, with more aliens than we can handle.

"If that's the case," Gorman said, rubbing his face, "we'll need a lot more explosives. When we get back to the dropship, grab some pulse rifles, start equipping them with grenade launchers. Suit up the smartgunners, and I want some timed charges loaded into the APC."

I had a feeling of dread sitting in my stomach since we landed. It was gradually getting more and more nauseous. _My last mission, and it could be one where some of my friends and teammates get killed. You could say that about any mission we've been on, but, dear God, this is the worst we've ever done._

I waited until Gorman and Apone turned their attention to Ferro, and then I approached Ripley. "Hey, I don't know if this is the best time right now, but . . . I'm sorry about earlier." I bit my tongue, strongly resisting the urge to explain myself. Getting the apology out was more important.

In the few times we've made eye contact throughout this task, this was the least hostile look Ripley gave me. I think I did a good job at not looking pissed off, but I know that I have tendency to just look mad all the time.

"Do you act like this every time something doesn't go your way?" she asked.

_You're kidding me, right?_ "No," I said. "Not every time. I act like this whenever I think my teammates are being led into a death trap."

"Right. I'll remember that next time."

"Look, it's not like you're wrong. I don't want to see these . . . things get to Earth or anywhere else with a dense population. If . . . this is the only way we can prevent that, then, fine. I'll go along with it."

With not much change in expression, Ripley nodded. "Thank you, Drake."

I figured that was enough, and turned away.

Hicks had observed the whole thing, and I couldn't tell if he was accepting of it or not. I think he was just trying to be a neutral party, but there was something else. I just couldn't pinpoint what. He didn't say anything as I walked by him, and I could see him staring down at his boots.

* * *

"We can't fly if Spunkmeyer keeps bleeding."

Dietrich, like Hudson, looked like she was on the verge of an emotional explosion. "I can't give him stitches in here. I don't have the right equipment, and we can't fly back to the fucking _Sulaco_."

Ferro clenched and unclenched her fists. "I don't think you have a choice."

"The most I can do is change the dressing, and put a thicker bandage on him. That's it. You certainly can't fly if he's loaded with painkillers."

"She's got a point," Wierzbowski muttered.

We had to stay there until Dietrich finished with Spunkmeyer. Not even five minutes had passed when a shaky Hudson got to his feet, and gestured for me to follow him. We went out into the hall, flamethrowers slung over our shoulders.

"We're gonna be stuck in here, man," Hudson sobbed.

"Alright, seriously? Don't start crying," I sighed. "You've been through shit like this-"

"This is worse. This is so much worse, man. Remember that time I got separated from you guys in Romania? This is worse."

Reluctantly, I hugged him. "I know. We shouldn't be here for much longer, OK? Now, stop crying before I slap you into next week. You really wanna act like this in front of Ripley and Gorman?" I shook him. "Shame on you. You want me to tell Miranda you're being a big baby here? You think she's gonna wanna marry your hairy ass after this? Absolutely not." I cuffed him upside the head. "Quit being a bitch, Hudson. Neither of us can afford to let our fucking emotions take over now."

He was still holding onto me. I think he knew I said all that out of brotherly love. Giving an irritated sigh, I patted his head. When this is over, I have a feeling he'll do what he did after being poisoned by the silver flower; he'll repress every memory regarding this. He'll lock it away in his brain and even he won't know where to find it. I know that might damage his relationship with Miranda in the long run, and I don't want to see that happen.

"Think past this, buddy," I whispered. "You're gonna go home. You're gonna sit on your ass for the next four weeks while the USCM draws up your papers. Then they're gonna call you down, talk to you, ask you if you want another contract, and you'll probably say no, sign the paper, pack your shit, and leave. After that, you'll ask Miranda to marry you, right?"

Hudson nodded.

"Yeah. And you're gonna ask me to be your best man, and you and her are gonna argue over how the wedding is going to look, and blah, blah, blah. All that fun stuff. Am I right?"

Another nod.

"OK. Let's get back in the lab. Pretty sure Dietrich is done with Spunkmeyer. Let's get this show on the road, kick some ass, and go home." I roughly patted Hudson's shoulder. "You good?"

"Yeah, man."

We went back into the lab to see Dietrich applying the finishing touches to Spunkmeyer's new bandage. "This should hold up until we go back to the _Sulaco_. He'll be alright for the trip home, but he needs stitches; I didn't think those scratches were that deep, and we can't let them get infected. Who knows what these aliens have on their claws."

I noticed Newt was seemingly struggling with her expression. On one hand, she remained blank. On the other, she looked like she wanted to be upset. I didn't deny that she had seen so many people be killed at the claws of these creatures. She was probably thinking that it was pointless to get emotional over Spunkmeyer.

_If she wants to get upset, she should._ I knelt in front of her, whispering, "He's not going to die, OK? He's gonna be fine."

Shyly, she nodded. Aside from when I gave her food, this was the first time Newt had responded to anything I said. I can tell she's still not sure about me considering I did almost shoot her. At this point, I didn't think there was anything else I could say or do that would prompt her to trust me; that was something she had to do on her own. If it didn't happen, it wasn't my fault.

You would think children have less control over their emotions than adults. It takes an extremely traumatic event to get them to suppress their emotions as much as I have over the years. It becomes harder to express yourself the longer you close yourself off. It becomes harder to trust people. I didn't start forming bonds with my teammates until two years after I joined the units. That's how hard it was for me to open up. Even before my incident with the silver flowers, I just couldn't talk to anyone, aside from Vasquez. You'd think that having such a close relationship with one person would mean we could talk about anything and solve problems together. No, that's not the case at all. She has her own issues. When the both of us are suffering, we can't come to a solution together. We don't know what to do. We continued to become strained the longer it went on, and it wasn't until I found an outlet in Hudson when we started to figure things out again.

I just wish I knew how to convey that to Newt. Like when I got into my unit, I had made a bad first impression. I swore not to make that mistake again, but here I was, making that same fucking mistake.

* * *

We waited a few minutes to see how Spunkmeyer's new bandage held up. As Dietrich said, it would be good until we got back to the _Sulaco_. He'd be in cryo for the trip home anyway, so the doctors on Gateway would give him the proper stitches and medication.

On the dropship, we were given our weapons back, and starting taking out every explosive the ship carried. Frost helped everyone get grenade launchers fitted on their pulse rifles, while Vasquez and I checked each other over once our smartgun harnesses were on.

Just in case, everyone kept their flamethrowers. Crowe was methodically unscrewing and refilling the fuel canisters on everyone's weapons, while Wierzbowski screwed the canisters back on, and handed them back to their owners. Hicks was by himself, loading new shells in his shotgun and clipping extras to a bandolier across his armor. Newt watched from a safe distance, on Spunkmeyer's lap.

I didn't think anyone would be hungry because of how nerve-wracking this mission was, but we did expel a lot of energy in the processor, and we needed to replenish ourselves as well as our weapons. Much to my surprise, Hudson was being rather slow when it came to eating. He had no appetite at all, and I felt bad for him. Sighing, I sat next to him, and took a flat marble cake out of my ration pack to wave it in front of his face. "Hey, you gotta eat, buddy. Apone's gonna rip you a new one if you don't." I put the cake near his mouth. "Come on. I know you want it. Just don't bite my fingers off."

Hudson gave me a dirty look, and plucked the cake from my hand. I think I caught Newt smiling at us from the corner of my eye.

Wierzbowski approached us and leaned against the APC with his rations. "You two OK?"

"Anxious," I said. "You?"

"I didn't know it was possible to be so nervous and tired at the same time. I feel like I could take a nap right now, but I also can't."

I nodded. "This fucking ship Ripley's talking about must be pretty big if there're hundreds of alien eggs in it. If it was a little thing, no problem, but a big one?" I shook my head.

"She does have a point, though. We don't need these things getting to a more civilized place." Wierzbowski took a sip of his water.

I took a breath. "Well, if this is what it takes to protect our homes, and our . . . our future children . . ." I looked at both Hudson and Wierzbowski. They're not fathers now, but that might change. Hudson has been open in the past with Miranda about kids, while Wierzbowski really hasn't touched the subject with Eliza. He's never told me why. I know Vasquez and I are going to have kids. _A_ kid. Vasquez was firm on saying she only wants one, and I understand. Doesn't matter if it's a son or a daughter; we're only having one. "Let's do it," I finished.

* * *

On the flight to the derelict, I was silent while observing the rest of my teammates. I was really queasy and my heart was pounding. Honestly, I'm not sure how else to describe the feelings in that dropship on the way to the derelict ship. I could tell from everyone's expressions that we were nervous and unsure, even though we did trust Gorman.

Gorman was trying to distract himself by watching our vital sign monitors. I don't think he doubted the plan he formed with Hicks, Apone, and Ripley, but I think he was worried about the casualties it could produce. No one wants to be the guy sending notices to families that their Marine's been killed. With me, there would be no notice. There would be nothing.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Drake?" Gorman asked, glancing at me. "Your brainwaves are very active."

"Just thinking about what we're doing," I said.

"You've been snippy with everybody." Gorman returned his gaze to the monitors. "Is it because of that little blue mark on your ID papers?"

"The little blue mark" refers to a simple blue circle under my medical synopsis on the first sheet of my identification documents. Basically, it means I have a mental health condition. "Partly," I replied. "How come you didn't talk to me about it when we came outta cryo, or when you met us on Gateway?"

"I've dealt with blue marks before. Most of them had been receiving treatment for years, and it doesn't effect them as badly. Frankly, I wasn't sure how to approach you about it, because you seem like the type that doesn't let people, or at least, strangers, in."

I nodded a little. He wasn't wrong. "I've been trying to manage that, too. I'm sorry if I gave that off."

"OK. Is there something . . . you'd like to talk about?"

"If we had the time, Goddammit, I'd tell you my whole story." I gave a weak grin. "Maybe we can chat over a beer when we get back to Earth. My treat."

Much to my surprise, Gorman smiled back. "Let me have a look at my schedule when we get back. We'll work something out."

"Look, I wish there was some part of it I could summarize, but . . . I can't. I'm sorry, sir. There's just a lot that I don't know how to explain in a short period of time. I mean, I can tell you I'm scared. I'm scared that my best friends-some of whom I consider my brothers and sisters-aren't gonna survive this. I'm scared that if I survive, I'm going to be set back in my progress for beating my fucking PTSD. That's it. I'm scared."

Gorman nodded. "I think we all are. I know it probably doesn't sound too helpful, but, stick with your partners, follow every instruction. I think we'll get out of this alive. Maybe not unscathed, but alive."

I took a breath. "I hope you're right."

Roughly an hour later, the dropship landed near a large almost horseshoe-shaped structure that Ripley claimed was the alien ship carrying the eggs. Gorman ordered us to do a quick equipment check. Vasquez looked over my smartgun and harness, and then made eye contact with me. She partially dropped her guard, for me, and only me.

Hoping no one saw, I mouthed, "I love you."

Biting her lip, Vasquez said, "I love you, too," by slapping me across the face, prompting me to smirk.

It was no surprise that the area this ship was looked no different to where the colony was. It was dark, overcast, dusty, and there was no life aside from us-and the fucking eggs, of course. There was a minor difference, though, and that was the ship's resting place looked much darker, more dusty. Out of all the depictions of hell I've ever seen, I'm surprised no artist has ever done something that looked like LV-426, but I can also see why; it's too fucking intimidating. It's worse than Antarctica, the Sahara, and LV-400 put together. For me, it's like looking into the corners of my brain where my PTSD nests. There's nothing, aside from a monster I can't describe using words alone.

That monster has been woken up a few times over the course of this mission. Maybe it lifted its head a little, before going back to sleep, but for me, that's too much. It's taken me so long to get it to just find a dark spot in my brain and stay there. I don't want to go through the sheer hell of putting it back again. I don't have the energy to fight that battle again.

Spunkmeyer unbuckled his harness to let Newt sit on his lap. "You're staying with us again, OK?" he said. "It shouldn't be too long."

Ferro left the pilot's seat to take a pulse rifle from Frost, and then sat back down. "Don't get too comfy, Spunkmeyer," she said.

"I'm not exactly comfy, but _she_ is." Spunkmeyer gestured to Newt with his head.

I would later learn that he was actually comfortable. Frankly, I don't know how long it's been since Newt got any real sleep, but she was out like a light on Spunkmeyer, likely lulled by his heartbeat. I think everyone was glad she trusted him, compared to earlier, when she was running from us.

I wasn't too surprised Ripley was reluctant to accompany us to the derelict. This was the place where everything went wrong for her. I was tempted to say something, but I wasn't too sure she'd accept my thoughts after I've been a real ass toward her this whole time.

I tried to put myself in her place, imagining the derelict was full of silver flowers. When I opened my mouth to say something (although, to be real, I don't know what I was going to say, or how I was going to say it), I noticed Ripley making eye contact with me.

"What, Drake?" she asked.

Yeah, I wasn't sure what to say. I shut my mouth, sighing as I turned to head out with the rest of my unit.

* * *

_Question: How do you think Hudson is going to manage his experience at home? Has he learned from his past, or do you think he'll attempt to bury it with adverse consequences?_

_Author's Note: I've read a few times that it's possible Drake would've beat on Hudson for whining if he survived the first encounter with the aliens. I don't necessarily deny that; Drake would've been ten times more enraged than he is now if events were playing out more similar to the movie.  
_

_Instead of Drake's internal monologue about suppressing emotions, there was going to be a scene where he inadvertently makes Newt cry after telling her Spunkmeyer's going to be OK. The dialogue between Drake and Ripley wasn't flowing all that well, so I scrapped it; they had their fight, so it's time for them to move on._


	5. Chapter 5

Hicks and Frost carried out some of the timed charges from the APC. I looked up to see the two ends of the curved ship resting in the barren, rocky ground. How this thing flew was a completely different story that I really didn't care about right now. Regardless, the thing was big, and I couldn't imagine how many alien eggs it was carrying.

Over my shoulder, I could see Ripley observing us with her arms folded over her chest. After helping Frost, Hicks walked over to her, and put his hand on her shoulder, talking to her gently about something I couldn't hear.

I still had a suspicion that he liked her. Was it because he understood her past and felt like he could help her since he went through shit of his own? _I don't want to deal with her if Hicks and I constantly see each other when I become a civvie again. _I would much rather deal with Miranda and her obnoxious snuggling and kissing of Hudson in public. At least Miranda likes me. At least I get along with Wierzbowski's wife, Eliza. I know for sure that I won't get along with Ripley on that personal level.

I won't unless I really clear the air between us. I know what she's going through. Maybe it's not as bad. Maybe it's worse. I don't know. What matters is that _I get it_.

Adjusting the grip on my smartgun, I began slowly approaching Ripley after Hicks walked away to help Apone and Gorman. It didn't take me long to realize I didn't know how to start this conversation, and I kinda stood there, looking off into space.

"Do you need something, Drake?" Ripley asked.

Well, I trapped myself in this one. "Yeah, I guess . . . um . . . L-Look, I didn't mean for us to get off on the wrong foot. I know this isn't a fucking pleasure cruise, but . . . I don't want you coming away from this thinking I'm just a dick. I really do . . . understand what you're going through-"

"You know what it's like to have your entire crew, people you've worked with for years, slaughtered in front of you? You know what it's like to waste your life away in hypersleep, and wake up finding out your daughter has already passed on?"

"N-No, but . . . I know what it's like to feel . . . to feel as though nothing is going right, to be . . . absolutely terrified, to be so upset and angry and . . . it's hard to explain, sometimes. Trauma's a bitch, and . . . even though I don't know what specifically you went through, I do understand every feeling you might be having afterward. They make it hard to talk to people, even people you've known for a long time. And, I completely understand . . . how it feels to be alone. Totally and emotionally alone. It hurts, and you don't know when or if you'll ever find somebody who'll take the time out of their life to care and just listen to everything you want to say. I thought I wasn't going to find anyone, and eventually, I did. I found my best friends and brothers when I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life. I know things just seem . . . bleak and awful for you, but . . . believe me, if you try to maintain hope and seek out help, things _will_ get better. I promise."

When I look back on this, I really wish someone had told me this exact same thing when I was diagnosed with PTSD. Maybe even before that. Deep down, I wanted someone around who understood. Hicks tried to be that, but his own problems kept clouding his vision, and that wasn't his fault. It took him a long time to heal himself and start helping me. I knew I came across as someone who preferred to be alone, and there's a part of me that does; I tend to function better by myself, but that doesn't mean I don't want friends I can turn to when I need help. I know I want my current friends around when I make the transition to civilian life. I want that as much as I want to get married to Vasquez.

A lighter feeling filled my chest when I saw I had gotten through to Ripley. I could see the muscles in her face relax a little, and she no longer looked at me like I was a major asshole. In fact, she finally looked at me like I was another human being, not just one of the Marines. I highly doubt she wondered if I had once been a juvenile felon.

"In so many ways, Drake, you're right. Trusting people has been close to impossible these last few weeks. Some didn't believe my story, at first. Your commanding officers were the first to believe it whole-heartedly, and they told me your unit would take care of the colony, that you're one of the best in the business."

"So . . . you didn't order the USCM to come investigate?"

"No. A Weyland-Yutani executive, Carter Burke, ordered it. Then a USCM general took over from there."

I smiled. "General Russell, then. He oversees a large group of battalions, mine included. Hell, he probably put Gorman in charge, and he made a good choice." I glanced over in Gorman's direction. "I do get it, though; even though you know people believe you, it's hard to open up. I suffered through that with a couple of the guys here."

"Well, what happened to you?"

"You know the laboratory station next to Gateway? I got sent there and was poisoned by silver flowers. I . . . lived, but the doctors almost lost me a couple times. I've been in some bad situations beforehand, but that was a different experience altogether, and it stuck with me. It's still stuck with me. I can manage it now, but I couldn't manage anything, period, four years ago. I know the silver flower isn't anything like these aliens. I did have my moments where I wanted to destroy every last silver flower in existence, and I tried. Once. Didn't go so well. Don't ever take a flamethrower to a silver flower; they explode."

A very weak smile crossed Ripley's face; it quickly faded, though. "I'm very sorry, Drake."

"And I'm sorry, too." I clutched my smartgun tight with one hand to hold out my other. "No hard feelings?"

Ripley took my hand in a firm, professional grip. "No hard feelings."

I gave a lopsided grin, a weight finally lifting off my shoulders. _I can deal with her, if Hicks likes her._

* * *

We were split up into groups before heading into the derelict, and we were told to stick close to each other and our radios. Wielding a freshly fueled flamethrower, Wierzbowski walked with me into the downed alien ship. We weren't carrying any charges, but some of the teams were.

It was unbearably warm inside the derelict. Sweat was rolling down our faces in waves, and the air was stuffy. It was also dark, but what little we could see with our shoulder lamps revealed rib-like patterns on the walls and ceiling of the passageway we walked down, oddly similar to the alien hive. Personally, I couldn't tell if it was the design of the ship itself, or if we actually did walk right into another hive.

One thing I will note is the sheer bizarreness of the ship's interior. There were several design . . . choices, I guess you could call them, that resembled parts of the human body. Hell, a lot of the ship looked somewhat organic, and I really hoped that was just by design and not a sign that this had been literally alive at one point. That's just freaky.

Wierzbowski's breathing got heavier as we moved on, as did mine. I pressed a button on my headset. "Any eggs found yet?"

"Big ol' chamber down here, man," Hudson replied, his breathing rather noisy. "Setting charges now."

"Don't get too close to any of them, Hudson," Ripley added.

"I won't, man, relax."

"Drake, Wierzbowski, you guys need to move a little faster," Gorman said. "Have you found anything?"

"No, sir," I replied. "Air quality sucks in here."

"Keep moving, gentlemen. You'll be out of there soon."

Wierzbowski took a swig of water from his canteen. "This place looks like the manifestation of somebody's nightmares," he muttered.

"Got that right, pal," I replied.

We swept several more halls and chambers before coming upon a large room that was covered in green, leathery-looking eggs. All were surrounded by a bluish haze that I assumed was from the sheer humidity of this place. The air was least breathable here, and I could hear Wierzbowski's wheezing deep within his lungs. I struggled to get in a breath in myself, and I could also hear my PTSD in my brain saying, "_Yoohoo! I'm still here, Drake! Go ahead, keep trying to breathe. I'll grab you in a few seconds and drag your ass down to your personal hell._"

Fuck off, already.

Like I said, we didn't have any charges, and we weren't sure how many eggs were in there. Regardless, we had one job to do, and that was to destroy every last egg in this fucking room.

"Hey, Gorman? Do we have any extra explosives back in the APC?" I asked, tapping my headset.

"Unfortunately, we don't, Drake. Did you find something?"

"Wierzbowski and I just stumbled upon an egg chamber-"

"_Drake, watch it!_" Wierzbowski shot a jet of fire at a spider-hand thing crawling quickly toward me. The flames engulfed the ugly little creature, and it curled up as its thin layer of flesh burned.

All bets were off. I readied my smartgun and the two of us proceeded to blast apart and burn the eggs in front of us. Pale goop and spider parts and acid blood were running everywhere. The stink was close to unbearable when fire made contact with the eggs and spiders. My eyes were watering and I could feel an awful stinging sensation in my sinuses.

"Call for backup!" I yelled over the sound of my smartgun. "This whole chamber's gotta go!"

Wierzbowski moved to his right to keep burning eggs, and stepped back to talk into his headset. "Hicks! Hicks, we need help down here!"

"Don't worry, I'm sending Hudson and Vasquez to you!" Hicks responded. "Frost, delay the charges. Hudson! Delay your charges."

"Why, man?" Hudson asked.

"Just do as I say!"

I felt something wet fall on my right arm. At first, I thought it was just sweat. As I stepped backward, letting my gun charge, I noticed how thick and slimy this substance was as it slowly ran down my arm.

My stomach clenched hard when I heard something above me. It sounded like claws on the wall, followed by a soft hissing. My heart sped up, and I felt like time was slowing down.

Wierzbowski saw it before I could. I have never heard the man scream like I did in this moment.

A pair of long, black, bony claws grabbed me tight, keeping my mouth shut. One claw was around my head, the other had dug under my armor and gripped my belly. I felt more slime running all over my arms.

The last thing I heard before blacking out was Wierzbowski's howling. "_DRAAAKE!_"

It echoed across my mind right before the alien forced me to pass out by squeezing a part of my neck.

* * *

Only once before have I watched various events of my life play out in front of my mind's eye, and that was when I was close to death from the silver flower. I heard the laugh of my older sister-she was three when I was born-as she held me when I was around six months old. Then she kissed my forehead before hugging me tight. I heard the repetitive talks from my teachers about how I don't try hard enough in class, even though I have proved that I have potential. From middle school onward, I was becoming aware of how much other people wanted from me, but I didn't know what I wanted for myself. I heard over and over that it is extremely selfish and wrong to want things for yourself, that you should strive to help others.

I didn't know what to do, I was so confused. I wanted happiness. I wanted to be proud of myself. My father told me that I just needed to explore myself to find what I wanted, but I suppressed that. I was tired of people looking at me like I was destined to be evil. I heard my teachers telling my parents how I put little effort into working with others, that maybe I needed a long talk on why being alone isn't good for me.

That's why I snapped. That's why I decided running away was the best course of options. I felt like running away and being alone would allow me to find out who I was and what I wanted.

When I look back, I know that wouldn't have done anything for me. Not only that, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and became in murderer in less than five minutes.

Those five minutes set my life on a different course. I don't know where I'd be if things didn't turn out the way they have. I don't know where I'd be without Vasquez, without Hudson, without everyone I've ever met on this journey.

Probably dead.

I'll be honest. Without them, I would've either gotten myself killed, or taken my own life. A part of me thinks that maybe I would've found something if I had successfully ran away from home. However, I probably wouldn't have joined the Marines, like Spunkmeyer, who enlisted when he was only sixteen. It didn't cross my mind, not to mention, I wasn't smart enough to forge my own documents to enlist underage.

I remembered going into the prison complex for the first time. It was a relatively small series of buildings nestled in the woods, far away from civilization. I was escorted out with around thirty other new inmates. People think children are innocent little things until they see a juvenile prison facility. The majority of inmates are all between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, and they will scare the shit out of you as much as an adult inmate will.

We were processed, given clothes, given our cell number, and sent off with some rules. My first night was an experience, to say the least. I didn't sleep. I remained as far away from the bars as possible, hoping no one could see me in the dark. I listened to the crying and the taunting and the purely disgusting things these kids would say. I lay on my cot, quiet and scared. I wondered just how I was going to survive here.

Two years passed before I met Vasquez. We didn't connect with each other instantly, but we did feel something when we first met. It wasn't love; it was an understanding, sympathy, empathy, whatever. It turned into love, though, but we kept that understanding of each other. Basically, it was that understanding, that ability to really get each other's emotions, even after years of suppressing them, that allowed our relationship to thrive. We went from friends to lovers. I can vividly remember our first kiss was the day before someone came around with the opportunity of a lifetime for us.

It was a late afternoon. We were hiding in an abandoned warehouse-like building. There was silence, aside from shouting outside. The deep, warm orange of a sunset was spilling in through the grimy windows. Vasquez had told me she had a dream where she kissed me, on the cheek, and that she'd been waiting all day to tell me because she felt like it was the stupidest dream she'd ever have. All I did was smile and laugh.

We spent some time just looking at each other, thinking about the idea of kissing. Then, we slowly leaned into each other. I gently held Vasquez as our heads got closer, and I felt her hands behind my head. Our lips touched, and I was enveloped in a state of blissful happiness. It was the happiest I had been in a long, long time. I had finally got something I wanted; I had love, and I was never letting go of it. My heart belonged to Vasquez and her heart belonged to me, and it's been that way ever since.

When we ended the kiss, we stayed where we were, nuzzling each other. Vasquez was more closed off than I was, but that was one of the few times she became vulnerable. That was when I knew she felt I was perfect for her. We trusted each other on a level that ran a lot deeper than most other couples. We met and bonded in a place where happiness did not exist. Falling in love was just a bonus.

To be honest, I've had moments where I take her for granted. I know that I had been wrong or neglectful in those moments, but still, all my feelings for her are running so deep inside me that they can't be pulled out. No other woman in the world can do for me what Vasquez does. No other man in the world can do for Vasquez what I do. That's just how it is.

I watched my days in boot camp fly across my mind. Every insult, every lengthy exercise session, every agonizing moment my division would have to stand in front of our bunks till the ungodly hours of the morning because someone had a crease in their bedsheets. Every single time a drill sergeant would tell me I less than dirt because I came from prison. That's all I was to them; a former prisoner who didn't deserve a shred of redemption. I had no history, no personality, no potential.

You may not think it, but I did believe, at first, that I was truly going to redeem myself and get the fucking guilt off my shoulders when I agreed to join the Marines and terminate my life sentence. I can remember being told it was a simple, six-year contract, and then we'd be evaluated on our discipline. Vasquez and I had a lot of options as to what we could train for after boot camp, and we both settled on advanced firearms.

Smartgun training was shorter than boot camp itself. Basic was twelve weeks, while smartgun training was eight. We had a bit more freedom, but we were still looked down upon because we were ex-prisoners. People watched us, day in and day out, and it wasn't until we got to our unit when we started to feel more like we deserved something.

You pretty much know the rest of the story. It all flashed across my unconscious mind.

* * *

Something didn't feel right when I came around. I couldn't move, and a faint sense of panic began forcing my senses awake faster. My vision was blurred, and slowly came into focus. I spotted something familiar, though, and that was my smartgun and harness lying on the ground.

Why the fuck did I feel like I was _off_ the ground?

My head and the back of my neck were aching. It took me awhile to get a good look at my surroundings, and then I realized what had just happened. That alien in the egg chamber had taken me to a nest, and glued me to the wall, just like the colonists.

I was certain we were still in the derelict. Surely, I was close to the rest of my unit, so I screamed at the top of my lungs into the pitch darkness. "_HUDSON! HICKS! WIERZBOWSKI! VASQUEZ!_"

Nothing. Not even an echo.

I could hear the dripping of slime from the fresh resin pinning me to the ugly, misshapen wall. My heart continued to pound hard in my ribcage. Swallowing hard, I tried to think.

No, there's no fucking time to think, Drake. You need to get out of there before one of those spider-things gets you.

* * *

_Question: Do you think Drake has finally started achieving peace with himself by being the person who tells someone else suffering from trauma that things will get better because he knows they did for him?_

_Author's Note: Somewhat ironic that Wierzbowski is the one screaming for someone here, when Hicks screamed for him in the movie._


	6. Chapter 6

I was exhausted enough to where I hung there in the thick resin for a few minutes without moving. Every inch of my body was aching, and I felt drained of every ounce of energy I once had.

I was drained emotionally, too. Wierzbowski screaming my name was still echoing in my brain, as clear as the majority of my flashbacks. It had probably joined my flashbacks as something I would see in my nightmares for years to come.

Still, I heard no one call out for me. I didn't know where I was, whether I was still in the derelict or had been dragged all the way back to the atmosphere processor.

If my headset wasn't broken, I'd be able to contact Ferro and Spunkmeyer. They'd be able to tell the others, and come for me. I know they will.

A surge of purpose and motivation and outright fear passed through my veins. I grunted as I struggled against the hardening resin. My muscles tensed and relaxed as I repeatedly tried to push against it, hoping it was breakable. _Please, please, please, please! _I shut my eyes, forcing back a cry as I clenched my fist and moved to get my left arm free.

I was filled with a sense of hope you can't even imagine when I heard the slimy snapping of the resin. Breathing hard, I felt dizzy as I yanked the crap off my right arm, and began sliding down the black wall.

"Hello, beautiful," I gasped, picking up my cap and smartgun. I quickly adjusted my headset, and held down a button. "Hicks? Hicks, come in. It's Drake. I'm alive and OK. Hicks? Hicks!"

All I got was static. The hope I felt came crashing down to the pit of my stomach.

"Shit," I muttered.

I couldn't just stand there. The tunnel ahead of me was pitch black, and my shoulder lamp was busted. There was silence, aside from my breathing, my heartbeat, and the dripping of fluids all over the place. I'm not sure if it was water or something nasty I was stepping in as I began moving down the tunnel. The splashing echoed the further down I went, and I wondered if it meant I was getting closer to an exit.

I had to rely on my sense of smell and hearing, like an animal. It was difficult to shut out the feelings of fear, but I did it regardless. The hive smelled absolutely horrendous. I knew what I was sniffing for-the scent of dust and rain. If I smelled dust and rain, it meant I was close to the outside. So far, all I was getting was a sickly, almost sweaty odor emanating from the walls.

The aliens have an upper hand here, if I run into them. This is their turf. Plus, even if I can blast them apart with my smartgun, I have to get far enough away so I don't get hit with acidic blood. I hoped, and I prayed hard that I didn't run into anything. I've never prayed so hard before. If I was going to get some kind of divine intervention, it had to be now.

Something felt off. Something deep in my gut was telling me I was completely alone in the hive. Surely, there had to be some aliens left behind to guard their lair. Maybe I had gotten lucky and found an abandoned tunnel they didn't use anymore. Maybe it was because there were no hosts for their worm-spawn. I was it, unless they got one of my teammates . . .

A sudden feeling of dread grabbed my stomach and squeezed it hard. I almost keeled over. No. There was no way these monsters had gotten somebody else. I would've heard them screaming. I would've known. I just would've.

I tried to hone my hearing, listening for anything that sounded like aliens crawling on the wall, or anything that sounded like it was outside. I hadn't actually seen anything in God knows how long, and I was starting to feel disoriented.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard a skittering sound. It was too small to be a full-grown alien. Something pale broke the darkness, and I saw a spider-thing on the ground, heading toward me. It took two shots for me to completely rip it apart.

Smartguns don't go quietly into the night. I was hoping and praying even harder that I really was alone and there were no aliens around to hear my shooting. Then again, if there was a spider, there had to be eggs nearby.

I rounded a corner to find an open egg next to the wall. A gut-wrenching smell was coming from its insides, whatever it used to grow the spider. It must've opened recently, because of how strong the smell was. I gagged, and felt muscles half-contract in my stomach. It took a lot for me to resist vomiting.

I could hear a clearer echo when I kept walking. I wanted to get out of here so bad. My breathing sped up, as did my walking. I only stopped when I heard something: wind. The only thing I was thinking about then was following the sound of the wind.

Things got leagues better when I could smell dust and rain. A smile actually came across my face. I was almost out. I was almost out-

Something dropped in front of me, and slowly rose to its full height. The alien turned to face me, jaws open to show its second set. I quickly looked over my shoulder, and began backing up to get a good shot. I fired as it lunged at me, and I heard a hissing sound. Acid was burning through parts of my smartgun, leaving hundreds of small holes all over it. As long as it doesn't get to the battery, we're good.

I kept going. I had no choice but to keep going. I could hear the wind and smell the rain. I was so close I could almost taste it.

Light. I saw light. I ran toward the light. I ran as fast as I could, down another tunnel. It gradually got drier the further I went.

I dashed out of the hive, and I looked up at the perpetually gray skies of LV-426. Without thinking, I tipped my head back and screamed triumphantly. I screamed despite my throat being raw from calling for my friends earlier. I screamed until my body couldn't take it anymore. My voice was gone.

From where I was, I could see the dropship's floodlights. I ran as fast as I could across the rocky landscape, not really paying attention to what I was doing. I ended up tripping and twisting my ankle, as well as biting my lip so hard it bled. I limped to the dropship, blood slowly running from my lower lip. The dropship was getting closer, unlike my nightmares where the thing I want is getting further away. Hot tears began streaming down my face as I called, hoarsely, "_Ferro! Spunkmeyer!_"

When I got closer, the dropship hatch opened, and Ferro jogged out, holding a pulse rifle. "Drake! Drake, oh my God, are you OK?" She slung the weapon over her shoulder to hug me tight. "We kept hearing from everyone else you got taken!"

I was about to say something when I felt her hug get tighter. Closing my mouth, I hugged her back, feeling immensely relieved.

"Wow, you stink." Ferro gave a nervous laugh. She buried her face in my vest anyway, and then stood on her toes to kiss my cheek. "Spunkmeyer! Go get a first aid kit, quick!"

I sat while Ferro set about taping my ankle. She gave me a thick tissue to hold to my lip to stop the bleeding, and Spunkmeyer stood by with a canteen of water. Newt was sitting up front, with Spunkmeyer's helmet crookedly on her head.

"It just grabbed me and ran," I said. "Dragged me off to some section of a hive, stuck me to the wall, and that was it. I guess it was hoping one of the fucking spider things would get me next."

"How'd you get out?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"I don't know. I went down a tunnel and kept following it. I had no clue where I was going."

Ferro looked up from my ankle. "As long as you're alright. That's all that matters." She took the canteen from Spunkmeyer, and gave it to me. "Radio Hicks, Spunkmeyer. Let him know Drake's OK."

"Got it." Spunkmeyer walked back to the cockpit. "Alright, sweetie, I need my helmet back." He lifted up Newt and set her on his lap after putting on his helmet. "Hey, Hicks? Hicks?" He waited for three agonizing heartbeats.

"What's going on, Spunkmeyer?" Hicks asked. "Make it quick, we got problems down here!"

My heart skipped another beat. "Problems? Is everyone OK?"

Spunkmeyer looked over his shoulder to tell me to shush.

"Well, we're trying to hold off a fucking horde of these creatures, and Dietrich is trying to calm down Wierzbowski, who's having a fucking meltdown right now."

"Drake is alive and OK. Sprained ankle, but nothing too severe."

Hicks breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Holy shit . . ." He called out to the others with him. "Drake's fine! Drake's alright!"

Spunkmeyer winced when we heard an explosion over the radio. It sounded massive. In the distance, we could see a plume of fire rising up from a section of the derelict. "Hicks? Hicks!" Spunkmeyer tapped his helmet, and took a breath. "Mic's out. Dammit."

Ferro was unable to hide the fact that she was upset and afraid. Tears rolled down her face. "No . . . Please tell me the signal just got disrupted by the charges."

"I don't know," Spunkmeyer said, adjusting Newt on his lap.

I was equally upset. I felt sick at the thought that everyone I knew and cared about could've just been killed. My stomach couldn't take it anymore; after the awful stench of the hive, being scared out of my wits, and now the fear that my girlfriend and my two best friends just got blown to bits, I was ready to throw up. I ended up getting sick on the floor of the dropship, and what made me feel bad later on was that there are no cleaning supplies on the dropship-all that stuff's on the _Sulaco_.

At least Ferro and Spunkmeyer weren't upset; they understood.

None of us really knew what to do at this point. Spunkmeyer would occasionally try to call Hicks or Apone or Gorman using the radio, but no one responded.

Ten agonizingly slow minutes passed. It was impossible to ignore the smell of vomit, but no one was really paying any attention to it. Spunkmeyer turned to face me and Ferro, saying, "If we don't hear anything soon, we need to take off and go home. We don't have enough supplies to last more than a few days."

Ferro hung her head. "Fuck," she whispered.

I swallowed hard. "I can't live with the fact that I gotta tell Eliza and Miranda that Wierzbowski and Hudson were killed. I should've stayed in the hive and died. I can't live with this-"

"Don't talk like that, Drake!" Ferro backhanded me. "Everything will be fine. We can do this."

"Yeah, we don't even know if they're dead yet," Spunkmeyer added. "I'm willing to sit here for a few more hours. If they escape, we'll be able to see the APC coming."

* * *

There've been a few times in my life where simple minutes go by like hours. This was one of them. There was silence, aside from the wind battering the hull of the dropship and my heart beating. I wanted badly to go out there and run to the derelict, but both Ferro and Spunkmeyer told me not to.

Not knowing what just happened to my friends and teammates was one of the worst feelings I've ever had to deal with. It's up there with guilt and depression. I sat in the dropship, worrying about what would happen when we went home. I couldn't imagine going up to Eliza and telling her that Wierzbowski was dead. I couldn't imagine going up to Miranda and telling her Hudson was dead. I didn't want to be the one breaking the news to them. I couldn't.

"What if it's true they're gone?" I whispered to Ferro.

Instead of telling me that we were going to pull through this, Ferro took a breath, and touched my knee. "We still have each other. I know that sounds really stupid and cheesy, but it's true."

"Yeah, don't say it's cheesy. I don't want to start my life as a civilian alone."

Neither of us could figure out what more to say. The anxiety from everyone inside the ship was palpable.

One thing I've learned is never, ever assume that things will stay quiet in situations like this. That's the first thing they teach you in boot camp.

Spunkmeyer got up to refill his canteen, leaving Newt in the chair again. She looked over at him as he left the cockpit. Like Ripley, I noticed that Newt was relaxing a little in terms of her facial expressions. She looked less blank, less terrified. It didn't take a long speech (let's be real, stuff like that doesn't work with children) for her to start coming out of her trauma. All it really took was someone being there and letting her know they weren't going to be taken away and killed by these animals. She probably watched her parents go in horrible ways.

Newt was running her finger along the controls, without actually moving them. She gripped them once, again without moving them, and then let go, looking over her shoulder at Spunkmeyer.

"I'm coming back, honey, don't worry." Spunkmeyer offered a grin. He held up his canteen. "Do you want some? It's just water."

Newt gave a shy nod, then we heard a hard _thunk_.

I saw the long head of an alien peering up into the cockpit. Newt gave an earsplitting scream. The beast was trying to crawl up the windshield.

Spunkmeyer noted that the thing was really close to the dropship's guns. He pulled Newt out of his seat, grabbing the controls and activating the machine guns directly beneath the cockpit. The base of the ship shook a little as the twin guns unleashed their payload into the lower half of the alien. It gave a pained screech as it was literally torn in half. Spunkmeyer cursed out loud when he saw tiny holes appear in the hull from the creature's blood. "We're getting out of here," he hissed. "Ferro, come on! Drake, take Newt, and strap yourselves in."

I didn't argue as I sat right behind the cockpit, even though I had this awful feeling that this was it; everyone else was dead and we were the only survivors.

"Are we going now?" Newt asked, softly.

"I have no idea," I replied, tightening her seat straps.

"Is everyone really gone?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to cry?"

"If I find out they're really dead, yes, I'm going to cry." I adjusted my harness before leaning over to look into the cockpit.

As we lifted off, there were more aliens gathering beneath us. It looked as though we were fleeing just in time.

"Jesus, we got lucky," Ferro whispered. "Try radioing someone."

Spunkmeyer took a breath. "Hicks? Apone? Gorman?" He swallowed hard. "For the love of God, somebody _answer!_"

"Spunkmeyer, look! There's the APC floodlights!"

A wave of relief crashed over me. Someone down there was alive. At the same time, some people could've died in the explosion. I hoped that wasn't true.

There was static over Spunkmeyer's radio, and we heard Hudson howl, "Get 'em off our tails, man!"

Ferro took the dropship lower to where the APC was flying across the landscape. We could see aliens trying to leap aboard and pry into the vehicle. There were bright flashes as Frost tried holding them off with the APC's cannon.

"Get her a little bit closer," Spunkmeyer said. "Little bit closer. Maybe the APC can drive right in."

"It's too dangerous," Ferro replied.

I took off my harness and carefully stood up to go into the cockpit. My heart was in my throat, and I couldn't sit still and just listen. I steadied myself on the back of Spunkmeyer's seat.

Spunkmeyer glanced at me, but said nothing. However, both he and Ferro gasped when we saw the APC bounce hard against the uneven ground, and stop altogether. We could see guys scrambling to get out, and heard Hicks yelling orders over the radio.

"Drake, lower the ramp!" Ferro yelled.

"What button?" I asked.

"Near the ramp, dumbass! It's on the wall!"

Grabbing a pulse rifle along the way, I limped over to the other end of the dropship. The ship jerked as Spunkmeyer tried to adjust it, and I fell, sliding a ways toward the sealed ramp. I made the mistake of trying to get up on my injured ankle, and yelped in pain.

I heard a click, followed by someone running toward me. Newt tried to help me up, even though she really couldn't. "Drake, you gotta get up!"

I grabbed onto a railing to force myself up, trying to avoid stepping on my ankle. Once I was up, I slammed the button, and grabbed Newt as the ramp slowly opened.

Hicks flung himself onto the ramp, grunting as he crawled upward. I held out my hand, pulling him into the dropship. He didn't bother acknowledging that I was alive and OK. As soon as he was up, he yelled for the others to get on.

Vasquez was fending off part of the horde with her smartgun, and it didn't look like the aliens were letting up anytime soon. I passed Newt to Hicks, and slowly inched my way down the ramp. "_Jump, honey!_"

She turned to see me, and I could've sworn I saw tears in her eyes. Like everyone else, she'd been convinced I was lost to the hive. She blasted apart another alien before running and jumping onto the ramp, and she would've fallen back down if I didn't grab onto her.

"Drake! You-"

I silenced her by kissing her full on the lips. "I'm OK. Just take your harness off and help me get everyone in here."

"Gorman, come on!" Hicks yanked the lieutenant onto the ramp, followed by Ripley, and then Bishop. "_Newt, get away from there!_"

The little girl was standing close to the edge, thinking she could help the rest of the unit get into the dropship. An alien leapt onto the edge of the ramp, and Newt screamed while looking at the nearest person. "_Hudson!_"

Hudson wasn't on board yet. He threw Crowe toward Hicks, and turned to shoot the alien raising its claws to Newt. "Listen to Hicks, man! Get away from the edge!" He really should've gotten on board already, but he was blasting aliens left and right, screaming profanities the whole way.

Wierzbowski landed poorly on the ramp. I heard the wind rush out of him as he fell hard on his belly. Quickly, he pulled himself up, taking my offered hand. His eyes sparkled with tears when he stood up, and he hugged me.

He hugged me hard, and my heart was overcome with a warm feeling.

* * *

_Question: Would Drake be able to manage transitioning to civilian life on his own?_


	7. Chapter 7

"I thought I let you get killed."

I can understand why Wierzbowski had a meltdown after I got taken by an alien. According to Hicks, Wierzbowski was screaming like a madman when he and Hudson and a few of the others arrived in the egg chamber. His cheeks were red and tears were streaming down his face. He was on his knees, temporarily away from reality. He really thought I had been lost forever.

Hudson got down by Wierzbowski, holding him and trying to pull him out of it. That didn't work. Hudson started processing the idea of me being gone, too, and struggled to avoid having a meltdown of his own. I think he suppressed it. As much as I can understand why, I know it's going to come, sooner or later. Even if he's in a situation that's calm, he might blow up, because those emotions associated with a meltdown were never released.

Dietrich and Frost dragged Wierzbowski back toward Gorman and Ripley, and tried to calm him down. "I let him get killed," Wierzbowski sobbed. "I let him get killed."

"No, you didn't, 'Ski." Frost had his arms around the big man's shoulders. "It's not your fault, dude, it's not your fault."

"Frost, go help the rest of the guys destroy the eggs," Hicks ordered, kneeling in front of Wierzbowski. "Hey, look at me." When Wierzbowski didn't look at him, Hicks's eyes narrowed to gray-green slits, and he growled, "_Look at me!_ Don't you start blaming yourself for this. These fuckers got the best of both of you. You didn't get Drake killed, do you understand? Get your ass up, go start fucking this nest so no one else ends up like Drake, got it?"

Wierzbowski would later tell me that Hicks was crying the whole time he said that.

Their extreme reactions told me a lot. They all loved me. And, Goddammit, I loved them, too. They were my real family. _I_ was family to them.

I let Wierzbowski hold onto me for a few seconds longer. "Hug me when we go home, big guy," I said, pulling away.

Frost jumped aboard the dropship. "Hudson! Come on, you moron!"

"What's going on?" Spunkmeyer asked.

Hudson was running out of room to jump. Aliens were beginning to crowd him from all directions as he kept firing, pushing people toward the ramp.

"Hudson, now is not the time to play the hero!" I called.

"You heard the man! Get up here!" Apone barked.

"Trying, Sarge!" Hudson shouted.

"Run and jump!" Vasquez said.

"The nuclear reactor's gonna kill 'em all anyway, buddy, now, come on!" I hollered.

Hudson was flailing as he made his leap, but he wasn't the only one jumping. An alien had grabbed hold of his right ankle as he belly-flopped onto the ramp.

"Take off, Ferro!" Gorman ordered.

"_HELP ME!_" Hudson's scream pierced the souls of anyone who heard it. He and a hissing alien were dangling from the ramp as Ferro began lifting the dropship away from the APC.

He screamed again as he began sliding toward the edge. It was a scream I pray I never have to hear again, because it's a sound you hear when someone is certain they're about to die. I took his hand, trying to keep myself from sliding along with them.

"Don't let go, man!" Hudson moaned.

I was struggling to pull him up. The alien was clearly heavier and stronger than either of us, but it was frustrated that it hadn't dragged Hudson out of the dropship yet.

Ferro was gradually picking up speed, and tried shaking the alien off. People fell and slid and grabbed onto things to keep from falling.

"You'll take Hudson out, too!" Gorman snarled. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, sir!" Ferro yelled. She's typically calm when flying. I think it was the fear of losing Hudson that disrupted her mindset.

The alien dug its claws into Hudson's leg, and Hudson squeezed my hand tight enough to hurt as he howled in pain. My boots were slowly sliding toward the edge of the ramp, and my heart was pounding harder and harder as I tried to muster the strength to get Hudson up.

Wierzbowski wrapped his arms around me, providing additional (and very welcome) manpower. At the same time, the enraged alien took Hudson's other leg, continuing to threaten to just yank him down to the gray landscape beneath us.

"Why can't we just shoot it?!" Vasquez hollered.

"How do we know it's not gonna bleed acid all over him?" I said. "He could lose his leg, for crying out loud!"

Hicks was holding the back of Wierzbowski's armor while gripping a railing. "If we go fast enough, most of that thing's blood should just fly backward with it instead of splashing back at Hudson. He make get a drop or two, but nothing that'll take his fucking leg off."

"There's no way that'll work," I grunted.

"What choice do we have, Drake? Either we do it, or we don't, and we're losing time!" Hicks took a breath, adjusting his grip on Wierzbowski's armor. He looked over his shoulder. "Speed it up a notch, Ferro!"

"Is Hudson in?" Ferro asked.

"No, but I got a plan!" Hicks quickly wrapped his arm around Wierzbowski's chest, and tightened his grip on the railing. "_Everybody, hold onto something and don't fucking let go!_" He looked around, making sure everyone was hanging onto something as the dropship picked up speed.

My heart was skipping beats as I lifted slightly off the ramp. I would've flown out if I wasn't being held by Wierzbowski, who was squeezing me as hard as he could. I heard his boots skid against the metal floor as he, too, was coming close to flying out of the dropship.

I could feel my body wanting to loosen my grip on Hudson. Instinctively, I dug my nails into his hand. "I'm not gonna let go, buddy," I breathed. "Not letting go . . ."

I watched the blood from Hudson's leg fly back toward the alien, which was trying to yank him away from us. The tugging only prompted me to grip his hand harder.

"_Shoot it, Vasquez!_" Hicks hollered.

Taking a pulse rifle, Vasquez slowly eased her way down to where she could see Hudson and the alien. Crowe was holding onto her harness, making sure she didn't lift off the floor. "_Can you steady this thing, Spunkmeyer?! I can't get a clear shot!_" Vasquez yelled.

"_No!_" Spunkmeyer replied.

Hicks was about to say something when we heard Vasquez curse in frustrated Spanish, followed by the familiar banging of the pulse rifle. I watched the alien's acidic blood shoot behind it, disappearing into the dusty landscape. A few specks landed on Hudson's armor, dotting it with tiny holes. The screeching creature let go of Hudson, and fell, vanishing in the dust below.

"Pull!" I growled.

We yanked Hudson on board, and Hicks pressed the button to close the ramp. Gravity suddenly returned, and Wierzbowski and I fell. I took a moment to process what happened, breathing hard, still holding Hudson's hand. We had been gripping each other so hard that our nails left marks in each other's skin, despite mine being covered with a glove.

Hudson began crawling closer to me, and gave me the tightest hug you could imagine. No words were needed. We tried to even out our breathing while holding each other.

As soon as my breath was back, I said, "Next time, jump when Apone tells you to jump, you idiot."

Hudson gave a wheezing laugh. "Thanks, man."

"No, seriously, how many times have I saved your ass while I've been in this unit?"

"A lot, man."

"Exactly. What does that tell you?" I roughly tousled his hair. "You're not that smart, bud, but I love you, anyways."

"We all saved his ass this time," Hicks said, kneeling by us. "Alright, let's hug and kiss each other when we get back to the _Sulaco_. We still got one more thing to do, and then we're outta here."

* * *

The dropship slowed down to give us all a chance to sit down and strap ourselves in. Dietrich gave Hudson's leg a quick patch-up, but said she would thoroughly look over it once we returned to the _Sulaco_. Until we returned, there was nothing for us to do. Ferro and Spunkmeyer were taking care of everything from here on out.

The derelict ship was torn up from the internal explosions. We couldn't see if every egg had been destroyed, but the chances of any still being intact were slim. Hell, if the nuclear blast was as big as Bishop calculated it would be, there will be no alien survivors. None. This place will be as lifeless as the day it was made.

"You feeling OK?" Dietrich asked.

"Feel fine, man," Hudson replied.

"You don't need any painkillers?"

"No, man. I'll make it."

"Alright." Dietrich closed her bag, and quickly got back in her seat.

Gorman was sitting directly behind Ferro, and occasionally glancing at us. When we got closer to the colony, he said, "Only thing I ask, Spunkmeyer, is that you have all the fun in the world unloading on that processor, and make sure you two get us outta here faster than one of you can sneeze, OK?"

"Alright, sir. You said so." Spunkmeyer moved one hand over to the weapons trigger. "Ready when you got us in place, Ferro."

"Don't have too much fun, sweetie." Ferro grinned.

It's really no secret that Spunkmeyer is one of the smaller males in our group. Wierzbowski can easily pick him up and throw him across the room-if Spunkmeyer lets him. I speak from experience when I say never underestimate Spunkmeyer just because he looks like he's not capable of punching your lights out. He can, and he will. He will fight like a honey badger if backed into a corner, and the result is never pretty. He'll draw blood if he can, and (not gonna lie) . . . he bites. I say all this because we could hear him _laughing_ while shooting the dropship's machine guns and missiles into the colony's atmosphere processor, and it further solidified why you don't want to piss him off, either by himself, or when he's on a dropship.

It wasn't going to take long for the processor to go critical, so when Gorman said, "OK, son, that's enough," we were out of there as fast as Ferro could take us.

We drew closer to the _Sulaco_, and even though each of us knew that this shit was certainly over, no one cheered, or said anything. We'd just gone through a nightmare, and even though we had all survived, we didn't exactly get out unscathed. Some of us were wounded, and some of us were going to be reliving these events in our minds for a long time, myself included.

I really believed we were going home once the dropship entered the airlock and passed into the docking bay. A heavy silence passed over us as we waited for the engines to quiet down, and Ferro and Spunkmeyer unbuckled themselves.

"Thanks for traveling with us today. We hope you enjoyed the ride," Spunkmeyer said. He frowned when he looked at us all. "Everyone . . . OK?"

"Oh, fuck me in the ass, Spunkmeyer!" Hudson shouted. "You were with us, man! You really think any of us are 'OK?!'"

"Knock it off, Hudson," Apone said. "Alright, people, get outta here. Go power down. I'll be with you in two hours."

* * *

Ripley took care of Newt while the rest of us showered and put on fresh clothes (as fresh as you could get for storage in space). I stood in an absurdly tiny stall, washing the slime and grime off from the hive. My mind was going in every direction you can think of, and I didn't like it. I was feeling sick, even though my stomach was empty.

I left the shower room, adjusting my shirt, and saw Ripley going into the ladies' shower room with Newt. I hoped she remembered everything I said to her about how things aren't always going to be bad. With help and good companions, she should manage her trauma well. Sighing, I began walking aimlessly around, and found Wierzbowski in the transmission room, sending a message to Eliza.

". . . I'll be in hypersleep when you receive this, but, just know I'm on my way home, I'm OK, and I love you. I hope everything's been going OK with you. I know you miss me a lot, and I miss you, too. I'll see you in a few weeks, love." Wierzbowski submitted his message, which would take roughly a week to reach an Earth receiver, and then noticed me from the corner of his eye. "How're you doing, Drake?"

"I don't know. I think my appetite's coming back. Other than that, I'm . . . I'm gonna take a couple days of leave when we get back," I sighed.

"Well, I know someone's going to let Eliza know when I'm supposed to arrive at Gateway, but I'd rather let her know I'm coming home myself. Hopefully, she'll be able to come over to Venice and spend some time with me. I'll wire her money if she needs it."

I smiled a little bit. "Hey, you know we gotta do something for Hudson when he leaves."

"We'll have a month to plan."

"Not if we fucking procrastinate on it. I'm thinking it'll be like a bachelor party; we'll take him somewhere and he can eat and drink all he wants and nobody's gonna say a damn word."

Wierzbowski smiled as well, but his was sadder. "I'm going to miss him."

"How many years you got left on your contract?"

"Six months, actually. I signed on for eight years. Figured that was enough time to . . . see who I really was and put the mistakes of my past behind me."

"So, you'll have four months when Vasquez and I go. Geez. I feel bad leaving you all alone."

"I'll have everyone else, but . . . yeah, I'll miss you and Hudson especially. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for better friends."

"Still, you thought I died down there in the hive."

"Jesus Christ, Drake, don't bring that up. I'm going to have nightmares about that for a long time."

A freshly showered Hudson came in, his right leg covered in bandages. "Wish they had some beer on this hunk-a-junk, man." He plopped down in a chair. "Could use a drink."

"We all could use a drink," I said. "Even Wierzbowski might have one."

"Eliza's been slowly introducing me to wine. I can't do whiskey anymore; that's what I got hooked on." Wierzbowski turned to face Hudson. "Are you gonna send a message to your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, man. Look . . . when I get out, I'm gonna need you guys' help. I'm gonna propose to Miranda."

"That's wonderful!"

"I know, right? I need the right ring."

"All you really need to worry about is the size. Were you planning on doing something special with the gemstone?"

"Nah, I'll stick with a nice diamond, man. She likes rose-gold, so I'm definitely getting that for the ring itself."

I grinning. "Look at that. Our Hudson's growing up."

"Yeah, he's not humping random people in bars anymore," Wierzbowski snorted. "Seems like yesterday I had to pull you out of a fight with this one bitch's boyfriend because he was about to cut you with shards from a broken beer bottle. Gave him a bloody nose he wasn't forgetting anytime soon."

"I think you completely destroyed his nose to the point of no repair. I remember that fight," I said. "Best fight I ever watched. That's why one of the squad mottos is 'Don't fuck with Wierzbowski.'"

Hudson was red with embarrassment. "Well, that was almost six years ago, man. Things've changed, and I regret a lot of those things. I mean, Miranda's not the reason I changed, but she helped. I really do like her and I feel like we understand each other on a really emotional level. I want to be with her for the rest of my life. Hell, maybe we'll have kids together."

"You're gonna name me their godfather, right?" I asked.

"You're my best man, and you already wanna be the godfather to my kids? Geez, man." Hudson smirked. "Of course I would. Does that mean me and Miranda will be the godparents of your children?"

"Actually . . . I gotta think about that. It's kind of a toss-up between you, Wierzbowski, and Hicks."

"Hicks is in the Marines for life. I don't think he'd be a good idea," Wierzbowski said, standing up. "I mean, think about it: if something happened to you and Vasquez, Hicks wouldn't be able to properly care for your son or daughter while serving."

"He makes a good point, man," Hudson added.

"Yeah, he does."

Hicks walked into the room. It was obvious he had just got out of his meeting with Apone and Gorman, because he was still filthy. "Alright, couple of quick things. One, the colony has definitely been destroyed. Bishop ran a thermal sweep and there's just a big ol' hot spot where that place once stood."

"Great," I said. "We never have to go there again."

"Second thing, three hours till we get in cryo to go home. Come on down to the chow hall."

"We better get a real celebratory meal when we get back to Earth," I muttered.

Instead of snapping at my smartass remark, Hicks sighed. "Just go eat, Drake."

I followed the others to the mess hall. Everyone sat in the same place they were before the mission briefing. It was honestly surreal, and a part of me wondered if everything down on LV-426 actually happened. When Hudson sat down, I looked at the bandages on his leg. Spunkmeyer's jacket was still torn up and covered with stiff, dry blood. Yes, all that shit actually happened.

That didn't stop me from feeling as though it was all a dream. A nightmare, actually. How much of what happened on LV-426 was burned into my memory? How much was going to reappear in dreams and flashbacks?

I've come so far in managing my PTSD. I don't want any setbacks.

That's life, though. Setbacks happen. It's how you learn to grow and improve yourself. It doesn't matter whether a setback happens; what matters is pulling yourself back up. I've learned that pulling yourself back up is not easy. Anyone who tells you that you need to get up as fast as possible has never experienced what I have. It's a slow process. It's a painful process. There are times where you might have to go through it alone, and times where you need help. It's not a single hill you have to climb; it's a mountainous landscape you have to traverse. There are dips and steep cliffs and drop-offs and flat paths. Plus, speeding through your process will create problems. Forcing yourself to do something you really aren't ready for will make things worse, because you will fail. When you fail, you feel bad about yourself. When you feel bad about yourself, your motivation to continue your journey plummets.

I have moments where I don't want to go on anymore, not because I want to give up and go jump off the roof of a building, but because I need to let my mind rest. Taking a break doesn't mean you're lazy and incapable of doing this; it's being smart. It's knowing what your limits are and stopping before you have a breakdown. It's letting yourself recharge before you continue. Kinda like physical exercise.

"Drake? You OK?"

I snapped out of my thoughts to see Spunkmeyer looking at me, hazel eyes full of concern. Putting my fork in a piece of dry chicken, I futilely tried to look like nothing was bothering me, but then dropped my guard altogether. "I'm . . . fine, for the most part. Just . . . thinking."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Hey, if you need anything, don't forget, we're all here for you."

He didn't press me about what was going on in my head; he just knew I was bugged by what just happened. He was extending a hand of help, for whatever it was I needed in the future.

I know when it comes to high school reunions, no one looks forward to those. No one wants to meet up with people they didn't give two shits about twenty or thirty years ago (I mean, if you didn't give a shit then, what're the odds you give a shit now?). I am looking forward to a "squad reunion," though, if some of us truly go separate ways and don't live close to anyone else. I already know where I'm going to be, and where Hudson will be. Wierzbowski, too, if he and Eliza choose to remain in D.C. Unless an opportunity for a job for either of them comes up, I don't see them moving away from their friends. I can see us staying real close. Hell, I can see us all having kids together, and our kids growing up together. Maybe-and it's a big maybe-Hudson and I will truly become family if our kids get married to each other.

I mean, it's sweet to think about, I'm not ready to think that far ahead.

* * *

As we got ready to get into cryo, I noticed Hicks spent the last couple hours sitting and talking with Ripley. My guess (because I wasn't listening to them) is that they were actually getting to know each other. Like I said before, now that I feel like I've cleared the air between us, I think I can get along with Ripley if Hicks is trying to get that more-than-friends relationship out of her. He's not a bad choice for a boyfriend, and he does deserve someone who'll understand him and respect him and be by his side when he feels upset.

We all thought that was going to be Carlisle, but Hicks's past got the better of him, and she didn't want to deal with it anymore. Ripley is not from that awful time in Hicks's past when he was consumed with grief and anger and subsequent bipolar two disorder over General Paulson's suicide, but I really hope that she doesn't find it too much to deal with, because his depression does flare up from time to time. Maybe her trauma and his depression go good together.

As for Newt, I think her journey is going to be just as rough as mine. Maybe she'll stay with Ripley, maybe she'll want to stay with Spunkmeyer. Both are possible. Ripley never got to see her daughter grow up, so she could take Newt in to have that experience. Spunkmeyer was himself adopted, so he could take Newt in to give her the life and love he never got.

I mean, I think it's going to be really complicated, and it's none of my business, so, I'm just going to worry about me and Vasquez and our future together.

A part of me was not looking forward to going into cryo. I was afraid of being sucked into hours upon hours of nightmares. However, after closing my locker, I knew that was it. I had to get in that fucking tube whether I liked it or not. When that tube next opens, I'll be home, and I'll have two more months until my evaluation, two more months until I'm free to start my own life.

I can do this.

I walked over to Hudson's tube, where he was already lying down. "You ready?" I asked, not really sure what else to say.

"Absolutely, man," he said. "You alright?"

I nodded.

"Don't worry about anything, OK, man? As soon as we get back, we're going ring-shopping. Try to dream about that, man."

A small grin tugged at the edges of my mouth. "I'll try, but I highly doubt I got control over that." After patting Hudson's shoulder, I headed down to Wierzbowski. He was sitting on the edge of his cryotube, deep in thought. "And what're you thinking about, bud?"

Wierzbowski glanced up at me. "I'm just excited to go home, Drake. Thinking about . . . what to do once we get back to base."

"Eat. I know I'm going to treat myself to a fried chicken sandwich covered in half-melted Swiss cheese and slices of perfectly crispy bacon, and completely drenched in ranch dressing, on buttery toast, with a side of fresh-outta-the-oil fries, and a big pitcher of beer."

"You shut up, man! You're making me hungry!" Hudson whined.

"When are you not hungry, Hudson?" Frost asked.

"He's got a point, dude," Spunkmeyer chirped.

"Alright, lay down, close your mouths, and close your eyes," Hicks ordered. "We're gonna initiate the cryo sequence in a minute or two."

I lay in silence, hearing my heartbeat get louder as the glass tube closed over me. I took a breath, feeling cold wash over me. Like the trip out here, my last thought before the cryo claimed me consisted of prayers asking for pleasant dreams.

* * *

_Question: Even though it's only for a short time, how will Drake be able to adjust to not having Hudson around?_


	8. Chapter 8

If I had any nightmares on the trip home, I don't remember them. That probably means I didn't, because I usually remember all my nightmares.

Sitting up in my cryotube, I looked around at the others as they woke up and shook the sleep out. Hudson gave an obnoxiously loud yawn, and stretched while saying, "Four more weeks, man!"

"Quit rubbing it in, dickhead," Spunkmeyer grunted.

"You're just jealous."

Apone was already up and walking around. "Come on, everybody up! You think the civvies on Gateway wanna see you bums walking around in your dirty skivvies? No! Get your ass up, get some clothes on! Look sharp, people! Then you can be as lazy as you want when you go home."

Hudson snorted. "I get to go home in-"

"Seriously, Hudson, that's enough."

I headed over to my locker, realizing just how close I was to my meeting with the civilian advisors to determine if I was able to leave the Corps. As I hiked up my pants, I heard Hicks say, softly, "I'll give you my information after breakfast. You got someplace to go?"

Ripley replied, "Just the Gateway apartment."

"I don't think you wanna stay there forever. It's nice, sure, but there's not much to do. Maybe . . . you can come to Alabama, and I'll let you stay with me till you find a place of your own."

"You don't have to do that, Hicks."

"No, but I want to. I think you'd appreciate some good ol' fashioned Southern hospitality after fifty-seven years of nothing." Hicks closed his locker. "Whaddaya say? It's the least I could do. I know the last few weeks have been rough, and I just want to help you re-adjust."

Standing next to me, and also listening to the conversation, Vasquez leaned in to whisper to me in Spanish, "He legitimately likes her?"

I shrugged. "If he does, I don't give a fuck." I tucked my shirt in my pants. Like I said before, I don't know what Hicks and Ripley talked about before we made the trip home. Hicks didn't sound like he was rushing into things or trying to make anyone uncomfortable. Plus, he means it when he says he's giving you good ol' fashioned Southern hospitality, because I've experienced it myself. I won't go into too much detail, because that story is in one of my other journals, but when Hicks has guests (which isn't often), he puts in a lot of effort to make sure they're comfortable. Not to mention, I didn't care for iced tea until I visited Hicks's home. His brew was pretty good, and . . . I might be slightly addicted to it.

Anyway, I don't care if he opens up his home to Ripley. I just hope Hicks will be happy. I will start to care if Hicks isn't happy, or Ripley is making him miserable. I don't tolerate people making my friends miserable.

There wasn't as much chatter at the mess hall like there was when we got to LV-426. Everyone was focused on their own space, which I can understand.

"I'm not counting this as breakfast," Spunkmeyer muttered, still looking as though there was a sleepy fog in his brain. "When we get back to Venice, I'm going out to eat. Anyone who wants to come is welcome."

"Count me in, man," Hudson chirped with his mouth full.

"Anyone except Hudson."

"Aww, why?"

"Because we don't need you racking up the bill. Or going on and on about how you're leaving in four fucking weeks."

"Be nice," Hicks said. "I know a lot of you would kill to be in Hudson's position right now. Hell, Drake and Vasquez got their meetings in two months."

"We're not bragging about it. That's why no one says anything to us," I replied.

"Geez, you two are so quiet that I didn't even know till now," Crowe said. "Congratulations."

"Don't congratulate us yet," Vasquez sighed, not looking up from her tray. "We still have to meet with civvie reps about whether or not we're safe enough to leave."

"Don't worry about that. Apone and I will be there," Hicks replied, taking a sip of his watery coffee. "You guys have served us so well that I'd have a hard time believing you two were in juvie if it wasn't on paper."

"They let _juvenile delinquents_ into the military?" Ripley asked.

_Oh, shit._ There goes my image.

Hicks looked like he just got hit hard with something. Clearly, the memories of his dead mentor, Paulson, who started the program to take people out of juvenile prison and have them serve for a few years, were resurfacing. He kept a calm composure, though. "Drake and Vasquez have been with this same unit for six years. I'd trust either of them with my life. I actually have trusted them with my life in the past. Every damn mission, including this one. I think you'd agree their performance was impeccable."

I think Ripley was just surprised to learn where Vasquez and I came from, more than she felt we were bad people, but I still felt like I was gonna have to do more to prove myself. Turning back to my tray, I didn't say a word to anyone for the rest of the meal.

* * *

After we all passed through quarantine at Gateway, Spunkmeyer was immediately sent off to have the scratches on his back and shoulder stitched up properly. I was given a light brace for my ankle, just to keep it stable so it could heal. Hudson and Wierzbowski were in the comms area to video-chat with Miranda and Eliza respectively.

It would be some time before we went back down to Earth. I spent most of the day alone by a large window offering me a view of the planet below. Hudson hasn't said anything about what he's going to do once he leaves the Marines, aside from marrying Miranda. Nothing about a job he wants, or anything that'll pay the bills. Maybe he does have a plan and he's kept it to himself because he doesn't want us making fun of it, but that makes no sense, because he would've at least told me.

It got me thinking about what I'm going to do when I get discharged. I have to do something if I'm going to have a normal life afterwards.

It's too much to think about right now, especially by myself. I should sit down with someone, and Vasquez, because I know she'll be just as confused as me.

Not much happened on Gateway. Ripley was pretty firm about wanting to take care of Newt, and I had a feeling Spunkmeyer either didn't speak up, or was talked down to for some reason. Right before we boarded a shuttle down to Italy, Spunkmeyer was getting a cup of hot cider from a small café next door to the docking bay we were told to wait in. He sat next to me, holding the warm cup tightly. The somewhat spicy steam floated up around his face, and he let out a quiet, sad sigh.

"Everything OK?" I asked. I knew he wasn't OK, but I wanted him to talk so he didn't have to let his emotions fester.

Spunkmeyer was silent at first. He took a sip of his cider. "I guess it makes sense that . . . I'm not the right person to take care of Newt, right now. I mean, I still got two years on my contract, and . . . I can't let that take away from a life she deserves."

I did the mental math, and looked at him in shock. "You signed on for ten years?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I've told you my story, Drake. It's not like I'm whittling my life away. Hell, you know that I'll only be twenty-six when I get out."

"Yeah, I do know. I'm twenty-five, but . . . I feel like I've taken away so many years of my life."

"Twenty-five is still good. Plenty of time for you to still do things you want to do." Spunkmeyer took another sip of his drink. "Anyway, I do now know one thing I'm going to do when I get out."

"And what's that?"

Spunkmeyer took a breath. "I . . . don't care if I'm married or not; I'm going to adopt a kid. I feel like . . . I need to give someone the life . . . that I didn't have."

"Do you think you'll be ready for that when you get discharged?"

"Yeah."

"Look, I'm not saying this to dissuade you; I'm just saying you should think about it. If . . . things remain really good between you and Ferro, you guys have a future together. What if you really, really love her and want to marry her? What if she wants to have her own kids?"

"It's a long ways away. I dunno. Things could change." Spunkmeyer rubbed his face.

"True. But, don't let me stop you from doing something you want to do."

"Do you know what you're doing when you get discharged?"

"No."

Spunkmeyer looked at me, and thought hard for a moment. "You know, I think you'd make a really good cop, Drake."

"Dude, I was in prison. I'm the last person anyone wants to see become a cop."

"Maybe it'd be your ultimate redemption, then."

When Spunkmeyer said that, I decided to take his words seriously. For now, I put it in the back of my mind.

* * *

I had never been happier to see blue skies in all my life as the shuttle continued to drop altitude toward Venice. The only gray I wanted to see were the old buildings and prominent canals of the Italian city.

We landed at a port far inland, a good twenty miles away from the outskirts of the city. While carrying our stuff off the shuttle, Wierzbowski suddenly dropped his bags when Eliza raced up and jumped in his arms. Then I heard a "_oomph!_" from Hudson as Miranda tackled him. There was hugging and kissing and tears and everything you generally expect at a reunion. They had been away from each other for a little over six weeks, and that was six weeks too long.

I left everyone alone to their loved ones, and helped load the bags onto a truck that would take us back to base. Much to my surprise, Vasquez came up behind me, and tapped my arm. Before I could say anything, she put her hand over my mouth, and hugged me. I hugged her back, and kissed her forehead before saying, "What's this about, honey?"

"Nothing. You looked upset," Vasquez replied.

"I'm not upset. I'm just leaving everyone alone with their wives and girlfriends."

"Well, you looked a little lonely."

"I'm not sure I'm lonely, either."

"I don't think you've ever been sure of your feelings, Drake."

I smirked. "I do know that I love you. I'm a hundred-percent sure about that."

Vasquez actually smiled, and put her head on my chest. "Two months," she whispered.

"Yeah. Two months. I'm scared and excited all at the same time, but I think I'll be fine if we just stick together and work through everything to the best of our abilities." I nuzzled her face. "We can do this, I promise."

* * *

As I said earlier, one of the first things I did after returning to base and putting my stuff away was go out for some real food. Even though Spunkmeyer and Hudson and Wierzbowski invited me to go with them, I had an unexplained urge to be alone. I felt like I needed to be alone.

I think the others were a little worried, but at the same time, they understood what I needed to do to keep myself focused. Then again, I knew that they had been afraid I had died in the hive within the derelict; I could understand why they wanted to spend some extra time with me, to appreciate me. I probably should've gone with them, because I don't want to look like I don't appreciate them.

Still, my mental health comes first. That's how it's been the last four years. Privately, I don't like how it's the first thing I think of when waking up in the morning, but I guess that's how life works with PTSD or depression or bipolar or any other disorder listed in the latest edition of the DSM. I think of it like it was a physical illness; if I have the flu, I'm going to wake up thinking about what to do in order to make myself feel better.

I stared out at the canals, thoroughly enjoying the sun on my face and the overall feeling of being back on Earth. A place like LV-426 can make you appreciate the little things you might take for granted here; a soft breeze that smells a little like flowers. The sound of water lapping against the side of the canal. The murmur of human voices in the boats below.

Someone manning one of the boats that ferry people around the city looked up and waved to me. I actually waved back. There was no conversation, but I felt my heart aching for one. I hate small talk, but I thought I could push through that. Even better, maybe I could push out of my shell. I was going to need the ability to talk to regular civvies if I'm going to be one myself.

I guess that's the one thing I'm worried about more than everything else. I can't talk to other people the way I do the fellow Marines in my squadron. There's a bond between us that I can't explain, but it allows you to just ignore the small talk and go right into something deeper. There's just something about that brotherhood that allows you to form the strongest friendships you'll ever have. No one will ever replace Hudson, or Wierzbowski, or Spunkmeyer, or Hicks as the people I think of first when I need someone to talk to.

I don't like admitting it, but I'm afraid that the people at a regular job will look at me like I'm insane once they figure out that I have a hard time interacting with them. I'm afraid of forcing myself to wear a mask, of suppressing my emotions for hours at a time.

That's probably another thing I need to sit down and talk about with someone.

* * *

The first night back on base wasn't as restful as I thought it would be. I had a hard time falling asleep, and when I did get to sleep, it was plagued with nightmares. I heard the hissing and screeching of aliens. I felt myself getting dragged into the tunnels of the hive. I heard explosions and felt completely and utterly hopeless.

Jolting upright, I took a few deep breaths, trying to tell myself that this was all behind me and I didn't have to worry about it ever again.

And yet I've spent the last several hours trying to document it all. I've almost filled up this journal with my account of LV-426, even though I don't want to think about it ever again. Still, this is something I've been doing for years, ever since I picked up a blank book right before our mission to LV-400. It's become a daily ritual for me. It helps me process my thoughts, and best of all, I don't have to write in a way other people will understand, because I'm the only one who will ever read these journals. I can be as brutal as I want to others, or I can admit privately that I really care about someone. It's kinda like talking to yourself, in a less weird way.

My teammates know I keep journals, but I don't let them actually see what I write. Maybe in the future, when I've better managed my trauma and have a better grip on my life, I'll let Vasquez see them. Maybe I'll let my future son or daughter see them, when they're old enough. I know things will change-my feelings will change-in the long run. I just don't want to change too much, for better or worse.

I have heard the saying that parenthood can change you. I know I'm not ready for that yet, mentally or financially. I won't ever be a hundred percent ready, but that won't stop me from being the best dad in the world. I know I can be that.

I took a few moments to just lay in bed and think about what it'll be like having a kid. It might take some time before they smile at me when I'm holding them, but it'll be one of the best days of my life when they smile and laugh at me. I mean, I also know there's the crying and the diapers and the crying and the baby food being flung at you and the crying . . . at night. I know people will tell me how toddlers are the worst, but believe me when I say no son or daughter of mine will be a bratty toddler, and I don't think Vasquez will put up with that shit, either.

That's too far ahead to think. I need to just worry about the immediate future.

My daydreaming faded (wait, is it still daydreaming if it's at night, but you're not asleep?), and I was back to being afraid of something I really didn't have to fear anymore. I knew both Wierzbowski and Hudson were at a hotel with their lovely ladies to have some alone time, so when I got out of bed, I went to Hicks's room.

"He's not here."

I turned around to see Spunkmeyer standing outside his room with his robe wrapped tightly around his body. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Hicks ain't here. He's with Ripley, at a hotel. They're flying out to Alabama tomorrow, them and the little girl," Spunkmeyer replied.

"Did you get to say goodbye to her?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Yeah. I said, 'Don't forget about me. Please, come and visit me. Behave . . . and hopefully we'll see each other again someday.' That's all." He looked up at me. "Did you need something?"

"I can't sleep."

"Funny. I can't sleep, either."

We ended up going down to the lounge to sit and talk without waking everyone else up. Half the conversation was about our bad dreams, and the other half was about . . . well, random stuff. I said I didn't want to talk about the future at that moment, so we avoided it, but we did talk about how we were going to miss Hudson when he left. Believe me when I say I'm not ready to see him go.

* * *

Things had settled down in the days after we returned from LV-426. We didn't see Hicks for some time, because he was at his home with Ripley and Newt. As promised, I ended up going with Gorman to a bar, and talking more in-depth about some of the things I mentioned right before we went into the derelict ship.

He already knew about my PTSD, so I had no reason to hide it. Even though I've gotten significantly better at managing it, I can't just bury it on a whim. I can go for far longer without feeling like I'll have a meltdown when I'm out in public, but sometimes I have days where my mood is iffy and I'm not sure how I'm going to react to certain emotional stimuli when I'm out and about.

That night was one of those times. It doesn't help that I went through another traumatic event of similar magnitude to the silver flower, and it certainly doesn't help that it tacked on a variety of nightmares and flashbacks. Overall, I was constantly thinking about what this mission did to me, mentally. I know my therapist has said that no other traumatic event can do greater damage to me compared to the silver flower. No matter what happens, the results are the same; I will not get better or worse just because I suffer through more trauma, as the damage was already done.

And I've already rambled on about setbacks, so, I'm not going to write the same exact thing from a few pages back.

Anyway, my point is that I ended up really exposing myself to Gorman, and that's something I could never have done a few years ago, especially with someone I hardly knew. Not to mention, the mere act of talking about all this and being in a place where I was a little bit uncomfortable was exhausting, and I think he could see that I was wearing myself down. He could see just how much of a toll four years of suffering with and managing PTSD had taken on me. My papers simply say I have it; they don't say how bad it is or how well I've dealt with it. Hell, I can understand why they don't, because you'd have to tack on a hundred more papers just to summarize my journey with it.

You kinda expect officers to have some degree of wisdom, but that wasn't the case with Gorman. He's not a bad guy, and he seemed to be down-to-Earth and was more apt to listen than give advice. What made me happy was that he understood everything I said, because he has dealt with people like me before.

I'm not exactly sure if he's going to be staying with the unit or moving on to another one. It's not going to matter in a few months, though.

* * *

_Question: What do you think would happen if Spunkmeyer had been the one to take care of Newt when they returned to Earth?_


	9. Chapter 9

I guess my mind and body were struggling to accept the notion that Hudson would be gone in a few short weeks. Even while he was still here, I was becoming restless, and sad, and my appetite was nonexistent.

A part of me didn't even accept the idea he was leaving until I saw the documents and itinerary on his nightstand a week before he was set to fly out to Minneapolis. He'd been doing pretty well with his money since deciding he was going to marry Miranda when he left the Marines (though the engagement ring took a pretty good chunk out of his savings, a worthy chunk, but still).

Everyone was in the same boat the day before Hudson left. No one was ready to see him go. The base was quiet, and there wasn't a dry eye in sight.

Hudson felt bad that everyone was sad, so he took the whole squad down to a fancy bar in the center of Venice, and got on a stage typically used for karaoke. Right behind the stage was balcony offering a view of the clear night sky and a full moon, a welcome reminder we were home. After taking a sip of his drink, he tapped the microphone. "Hey, can I have your attention, please, man? Thanks." He waited, and looked a little nervous being up there. I mean, he was still sober, so, I wasn't surprised. He coughed, and said, "Um . . . well . . . I guess I really don't need to say anything about what's gonna happen tomorrow because you guys all know, and . . . well, I don't . . . I know you guys're gonna miss me, but I don't want this to be too sad of an occasion."

I rubbed my face, not wanting to cry in front of everyone. I felt Vasquez squeeze my hand and massage it with her thumb.

"I want to leave you guys with something good, something to remember, and . . . I'll do it by each individual, starting with Apone." Hudson grinned. "Sarge, I know I was a perpetual thorn in your side, day in and day out, but in all honesty, I could not have been assigned to a better man. I can remember the first day I met you, three days after I graduated from my job schooling, and you told me that you'd heard about my discipline record, and then said, 'I don't want any fucking shenanigans outta you, Private.'"

We all laughed, because we knew that didn't happen. Even Apone was laughing. "Let's be real, Hudson, you did make every single Goddamn day more entertaining for us. I think you were one of the reasons this unit never went through any massive overhauls."

Hudson turned red. "Maybe, I dunno, man. Anyways, even though I was pain in the ass-"

"You were basically a hemorrhoid no amount of fucking cream could get rid of."

"Right, sir. Uh . . . even though I was a pain, I . . . I did learn a lot from you. Not just in terms of leadership, but also the means in which to communicate with my fellow team members. Without those skills, I don't think I'd have the friends I have today. Thank you." Hudson's blush got deeper as we started clapping. He swallowed before saying, "Hicks, you're next, man."

"Oh, joy." Hicks smiled.

"First off, I should apologize for hitting you the first night you came here. You were attacking Spunkmeyer, but, still, after eight years, I should formally apologize."

"No hard feelings, Hudson. We still love you."

"Alright. Hicks, you were arguably the best fucking corporal I've ever met. I know you had some issues in your past, and I know I had some of my own that . . . I guess I never woulda woke up about if I didn't meet you and come to realize just how shitty mental illness is. I realized it's a silent monster that can attack you no matter who you are, and that it's a part of life no one likes talking about, but, it's there regardless. I realized there were some habits I needed to change in order to keep that monster from getting me. It took me a long time to actually change, but you were the primary reason I started changing. Hicks, you're the big brother I never had-"

"You make me feel like a tired mom sometimes, though." Hicks glanced at the rest of us as we laughed. "Every last one of you monkeys. Except you, Wierzbowski."

Hudson ran his fingers through his hair as he stopped laughing. "Not only were you my big brother, but you're one of my best friends. I can go to you for anything on my mind, and you always have the best advice, man. Thanks."

Hicks raised his glass, and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

"Alright . . . Crowe! Why don't you come on up and sit with the rest of us, man?"

Smirking, Crowe got out of his seat in the back, and joined me and Wierzbowski at our table. I reached over to pat his shoulder.

"Crowe, you have the honor of being the first British guy I ever met, and one of the few Marines that've been with me ever since I joined the unit. You're very reliable, you're one of the best damn soldiers here, and I always looked forward to hearing your stories whenever we sat down to dinner. I'm glad to have been your first brother, man. I know things were a bit rough for you growing up, but I think we can all agree you pulled through your difficulties, and turned into the finest Marine the Corps can produce. Thanks, man."

Crowe was blushing a little. "Got a little sappy there."

Hudson grinned, raising his beer mug. "Frost, my man! You're next!"

"Aw, shit." Frost smirked.

"I know we did a lot of stuff we really regret now, but I could not have found a better drinking buddy than you, man."

"Hey, I gave you the best twenty-first birthday ever! You don't regret that, do you?"

"Absolutely not! That's why I want you in charge of the alcohol at my wedding."

I threw my hands in the air. "I'm your best man! I'm the one in charge of the fucking alcohol!"

"Oh, yeah . . ." Hudson looked at the floor. "I'll find something for you, Frost, don't worry, man. Jokes aside, you are the funniest guy out of all of us. I can always, always count on you to make me laugh with any of the stories about the shit we did when we were the new guys. Stay in touch with me, man. Thanks." He glanced out at the rest of us, and I noticed he was gaining a little more confidence. "Dietrich!"

"Yeah?" Dietrich raised an eyebrow.

"We didn't always get along, that's for sure, but, I do know one thing that would make you really happy, and . . . that's a simple thank-you. You don't hear it much, but we do appreciate all you do for us. Every cut, every headache, every fever, every upset stomach-"

"Every flu season where it's pretty much guaranteed one of you is gonna projectile-vomit all over me."

"Yeah . . . sorry about that, man."

"You owe me a lot of sorrys, Hudson. I've dealt with your bodily fluids more than anyone else's in my whole career."

"How about a hug? Will that be good enough?"

Dietrich sighed, thinking for a moment. "Fine. Come here, you big goofball."

Hudson hopped off the stage to grab Dietrich in a bear-hug. "Seriously, though, man, I'm not gonna find a better doctor than you."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not."

"You were a bigger pain in my ass than you were to Apone sometimes."

"And you fixed all the pains in my ass."

"I'm not letting you live down the fact that Drake made you sit on a cactus when you two morons got stranded in Arizona. That was not fun to deal with."

Hudson gave Dietrich a kiss on the cheek before returning to the stage. "Thanks, anyway. Spunkmeyer!"

"Crap," Spunkmeyer mumbled.

"This man here is the first little brother I ever had. I know we had a big bump in the road, but we fixed that bump in the road, and that's not gonna change the fact that . . . you were the first person I felt like I could open about some of my deeper problems with. Plus, you were the first person to trust me with some of his really personal problems. That means something, and I'm never gonna forget that."

"And you were the first person in this unit that made me feel like I had a real family." Spunkmeyer's voice cracked. He looked like he was about to cry.

"Come on up here, man." Hudson set the microphone down to open his arms. I heard his breath rush from his lungs as Spunkmeyer grabbed him, and he was whispering something to Spunkmeyer that I couldn't hear.

Poor Spunkmeyer wasn't hiding his tears at all. It was a little gut-wrenching to see him like this, so when he sat back down next to Ferro, she hugged him.

"Guess that means you're next, Ferro," Hudson said. "The amount of times we've all put our lives in your hands, and Spunkmeyer's as well, is pretty astounding. But, no matter what the day was like, you never once failed to get us in and get us out. I admire your dedication."

Hicks snorted after taking a draw on his cigarette. "You are one of the laziest people in this fucking unit. You admire her?"

"I thought I was the laziest," I said.

"We ran a poll. You came in second, Drake," Apone replied.

"Anyway," Hudson cleared his throat, "Ferro, I also think you're one the sweetest people I've ever met. I probably would've dated you if you weren't with Spunkmeyer . . . and you didn't have a big crush on Drake a few years ago."

There were some laughs, and Frost turned to look at Ferro. "You had a crush on the drama king himself?"

"Kiss my ass, Frost," I said.

Ferro nodded. "For a few months." She squeezed my shoulder. "Wrap it up, Hudson, before you make me blush."

"That's my goal, here, man," Hudson said. "You and Spunkmeyer were the best dropship pilots any unit could produce. Thank you." He waited until the clapping died down to yell out, "Vasquez!"

"No," Vasquez replied.

"No, what?"

"Skip me, dumbass."

"I'm not skipping you, man."

I leaned over to whisper to her, "You are gonna miss him as much as the rest of us. Let him talk."

Vasquez bit her lip. "Fine."

Hudson grinned. "I can list every single part on my body in which you have kicked or punched me for being an idiot. You have socked me in the belly and kicked me in the nuts, but at the end of the day, you are one of the best friends I could've made here. Your loyalty to your unit and the people you care about-" Here, Hudson winked at me, "is at a level few people possess. I know it took you a little while to actually talk to me like I was another human being, but when you did, I set our past aside to listen to you, because that's all you really wanted. I felt like we could talk to each other about anything when you weren't teasing me about . . . whatever stupid thing I'm doing at the time."

"Alright, shut up and move on," Vasquez said.

"I love you as a sister. Thanks." Hudson pointed toward our table. "Wierzbowski! You, my friend, have the honor of being the first guy to really scare the crap outta me when I came to this unit. It wasn't Apone or Corporal Henley, it was you. Why? Because I saw you throw a tire halfway across a football field on a hot day in late June and I was pretty scared you could do that to me, man. However, that strength ended up coming in pretty handy when I . . . you know-"

"Got in bar-fights and got caught by some lady's boyfriend," Wierzbowski finished, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Yeah, that. Thanks, man. Anyways, you're a big man with an even bigger heart. I was actually surprised when I learned that you're shy, and about some of the things that happened in your past. Like all of us, you had your setbacks and moments where you felt like things weren't ever gonna be right again, but you pulled through. Hey, you've got the best group of friends anyone could ever ask for, and you were the first one of us to get married. I know it was your second go-around at the alter, but I think you and the lovely Mrs. Eliza Wierzbowski are going to have many, many years of happiness and love to come."

"Like you and Miranda will."

"Yeah." Hudson grinned. "Thanks." He took another sip of his drink, looking out at us. "I've been talking for awhile, now, haven't I?"

"This is literally no different than a normal day on base," Hicks said.

"Well, I still got one more person to get through. I saved the best for last." Hudson looked at me, a big smile on his face and tears glinting in his gray eyes. "Drake."

"Ass-kisser," I mumbled, grinning.

"Drake, you are my best friend, my brother, my confidant, and you're gonna be the best man at my wedding. You've saved my life, I've saved yours. Under no circumstances would I _ever_ not count on you for something, man. That's why I'm also naming you the godfather of my children when that day arrives."

"Hudson with kids, oh, dear." Hicks rubbed his face.

"Relax, Hicks, it probably won't be for another five years, man." Hudson looked back at me, and his smile faded. "You've been through hell, man. I-I know you've told me you never want to hear this question, but . . . if someone asked you, 'If you could go back and fix things and never go to prison, would you?' I hope you say, 'No.' Why? I think some of us wouldn't be where we are today, mentally and emotionally, without you. I know I wouldn't. Hicks probably wouldn't. Wierzbowski might still be drinking in the bathroom. Spunkmeyer wouldn't have fixed his issues with me. I think we'd all be pretty depressed if someone like you didn't just walk into our lives. Am I right?"

I glanced around to see people nodding. _Did I really have that much of an impact on everyone?_

"Drake, I know you had a rough road with PTSD. I saw you through your good days and your bad days. We definitely had moments where . . . I didn't want to put up with you anymore, but, you know, eventually the fucking clouds parted and we were back to being friends. Your good days were where I saw the real you, all the parts that weren't tainted by your trauma. You're smart, you're funny, you're immensely loyal, and you care so much about the people who love you. Most importantly, I think you're an extraordinary example of someone who has dealt with . . . unimaginable shit in his life, and found ways to make himself happy. You had your setbacks, but you still pulled through. I mean, lookit where you are now. I . . . don't think you'd be here right now if things had gone any other way."

I realized a tear was running down my face. Vasquez squeezed my hand, and Wierzbowski gripped my shoulder.

"Overall, Drake, we learned a lot from each other, and I'm really looking forward to being your friend and neighbor as a civilian in a couple months. I love you, brother."

As Hudson stepped off the stage, I noticed his face was a little red, and he was shaking, probably from the disbelief that he just got up there and gave a speech to everyone in the unit. I was genuinely surprised that he didn't drink more (the speeches would be far more entertaining if he was wasted, but I'm very happy with what we got).

His voice was just about gone, too, and he was starting to nod off in his bacon burger and steak fries.

* * *

It didn't come as a surprise that Hudson wasn't up bright and early the next morning. I was, however, and I decided to head into his room, hoping to have one last heart-to-heart conversation with him.

Hudson yawned and stretched while still laying down. "'Morning, Drake," he said, putting his hands behind his head. A confused look crossed his face as he looked at the clock. "Is it time for me to go already, man?"

"No, you still got a few more minutes," I replied. "I just . . . wanted to talk to you."

"OK. 'Bout what, man?"

"I dunno. I'm . . . gonna miss having these kinds of conversations with you."

"It's only for another month, man, but . . . I know what you mean. I'll miss you, too. You and Vasquez are gonna be in the D.C. area, right?"

"We got nowhere else to go. Doctor Hornby left me that house in his will, remember? Besides, I know Miranda's got a good job, and I don't . . . want to be far away from you two."

"Yeah. We ain't gonna have any problems paying for a wedding. I'm not really looking forward to the planning process after I propose, but it'll be worth it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well . . . me and Miranda have different ideas when it comes to how we want a wedding to be. I want it to be small and intimate. She wants it big and fancy. It's gonna be real hard convincing her why I want it small."

"Why do you want it small?"

"You. I mean, I know this isn't your wedding, but you are my best man, and I . . . I know that'll be a big responsibility, and I'd rather not have you be uncomfortable. I know you're more prone to panic attacks when you're in a setting with lots of people you don't know, and I don't want you to spend most of the time hiding in the bathroom."

"All that matters is you and Miranda are happy. Not me."

"I won't be happy if you're suffering, man."

I nodded a little. "As long as you two don't start fighting over this, I'm fine if that's . . . that's really what you want."

A big smile came across Hudson's face. He stretched again before sitting up. "Holy crap, I gotta get up, get dressed, eat some dry toast, and get my ass on a plane to Minnesota, baby! Gotta pick up some old stuff before moving into Miranda's apartment."

"So you have a busy few days. You're gonna be exhausted and really jet-lagged when you finally settle down."

"That's fine. Miranda's gonna spoil me for the next few days."

"Taking a trip?"

"Nah. She's gonna let me get comfy-"

"And probably eat everything in her kitchen."

Hudson smirked. "I'll behave." He got out of bed. "Alright. I'm getting dressed, and I'll see you at breakfast, man."

It turned out Hicks went an extra mile and got some real food for Hudson's last breakfast with us. "I'm not even going to limit how much you take," Hicks said. "Just dig in, buddy."

"Can we have alcohol for breakfast when I get to leave?" I asked.

"Absolutely not."

"Not even mimosas?"

"No."

"Aww."

It wasn't until Hudson was leaving his room with his duffel bag slung across his back when I really gripped the fact he was leaving. He went down the hall, shaking hands and giving hugs. I was honestly surprised to see Vasquez hang onto him for a long minute. I smirked. _She is going to miss him. She can't hide that._

Right before saying his goodbyes to Hicks and Apone, Hudson paused in front of me. I'm not going to deny that we both had tears in our eyes. I could see every memory flashing across his wet, gray eyes, and he took a deep breath. "You know, I thought . . . this'd be easy . . . but, it's . . . it's really not, man." Tears rolled down his face.

"It's only for a month," I said, repeating what he told me a few hours ago, "and then we'll never have to say goodbye again." My voice cracked, and I had no shame over it at all.

We hugged each other tightly, patting each other's backs. Yeah, Hudson was crying, too, but he was quiet about it while I ended up sobbing in his shoulder. When he heard my sob, Hudson squeezed me a little tighter, whispering, "You got this, man. Only a month."

I really didn't want to let go as he pulled away from me. Hudson gave me one last slap on the shoulder and a handshake before moving on to Hicks and Apone.

We all followed him out to the base gates, to a bus waiting to take him to the airport. As he walked down the sidewalk to the open gates, he turned and waved. "I'll let you all know when I get to the States, man! Love you!"

The gates closed. He got on the bus. The bus doors closed, and the vehicle began pulling away from the sidewalk. Hudson was still waving to us. While everyone else turned to head back inside, I stayed, slowly moving forward to watch the bus drive away until I could no longer see it.

I heard a soft click, and glanced over my shoulder to see Hicks lighting a cigarette. He flicked off the lighter before dropping it in his pocket, and looked at me. "You gonna be OK, Drake?"

I shook my head. "No."

Hicks took the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke into the comfortably warm morning air. "I won't ask you to do anything today. Sounds like you need to take some time to accept this. It's kind of a mild grieving process."

"How?"

"In a way, you lost Hudson. He didn't die, but you no longer have easy access to him. You know you're gonna see him again, but not for awhile. You need some time to get used to this feeling of him not being here, and . . . have some patience. Let your emotions be on the surface. Everyone here knows what's going on, so you have no reason to hide anything, OK? Don't be afraid to say, 'I miss my friend and it's upsetting me right now.' I'm sure Wierzbowski or Vasquez or Spunkmeyer will take the time to listen to you and comfort you." Hicks put the cigarette back in his mouth. "Trust me, Drake, I've done this fucking rodeo before."

"But yours was a lot more extreme. And you developed a lot of problems from it."

"I know. I don't want to see that out of you." Hicks glanced at me. "Do you wanna grab some coffee, or would you rather be alone for a bit?"

I became aware of a pain in my stomach. It was like someone had taken it in their fist, and was squeezing it and pinching it hard. I rubbed my face, feeling sick with loneliness. "I don't know."

Hicks gently took my shoulder. "Tell you what, I'll go get some hot chocolate and bring it here. I'll be right back."

He didn't want me to be completely alone. Not because he was afraid I was thinking of hurting myself, but because he knew me being alone would just make me feel worse. Before he left to grab some hot beverages from an on-base café, he stopped in Apone's office. "Sir, can you call Doctor Ranelli?"

"What's going on?" Apone asked.

"I think Drake needs . . . a little bit of help while he's adjusting to not having Hudson around. He might appreciate having Ranelli on standby. He trusts him, he likes him. I just think it'll be best for him."

"OK. I'll ring him up as soon as I can."

"Thanks." Hicks dashed out of the room, sliding his I.D. card along a device by a door to let him into the base's public complex.

* * *

_Question: How do Hudson's speeches reflect his personal growth based on what we know he was like when he enlisted?_

_Author's Note: This is both the sweetest and saddest chapter I've ever written (but nothing tops the perpetual sadness of "White Noise," to be honest).  
_

_Hudson giving personalized speeches was a last-minute addition. I didn't want his leaving to be too quick, so I felt this was a perfect way to lengthen the subplot and get the audience to feel the pain of him leaving the unit to start his new life._


	10. Chapter 10

I know deep down we were all happy for Hudson, but the pain of missing him was far greater than any happiness we felt at the time.

There was silence throughout the day, almost as if he had died. I was wondering what Hudson was thinking on his ride to the airport. I'll bet he was missing us, too. I couldn't imagine the struggle between the light feeling of excitement over starting a new life, and the heavy feeling of missing his closest friends within his heart.

Things somewhat returned to normal in the afternoon. We did our simpler duties, but Hicks didn't ask us to anything extra. I actually volunteered for laundry because I needed to keep my mind occupied, and quickly found out that wasn't a good idea; it turns out Hudson didn't get every article of clothing last night when he was packing. I pulled a pair of his PT shorts out of the dryer, and stared for a very long minute at his name written on the tag.

I don't know if he's had these since boot camp, but I could tell he's had them for awhile. The ink on the tag was slightly faded. There were small rips and tears throughout the fabric of the shorts from use. Tears choking me, I headed down to Hicks's quarters to show him.

"Hudson left one of his shorts," I said.

Hicks glanced at me. "Leave 'em on the bed. I'll wipe the name off and put them in the extras closet."

I didn't move. "N-No . . ."

Hicks gave me a sympathetic look. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. "Put them in his room. If we find anything else he left behind, I'll put a box together and mail it to Miranda's apartment, OK?"

I nodded.

"I . . . called Doctor Ranelli earlier today. He should be here tomorrow. I just thought you could use the extra support right now." Hicks studied my face for a minute. "Go finish up, and then you're done for the day."

It was admittedly difficult to get through the rest of the day. I felt like I had a big lead weight in my chest. During dinner, I had no appetite. It was way too quiet without Hudson.

Before lights-out, I went to Hudson's room. It was dark and empty, and it was strange seeing the bed made. It was strange not seeing his clothes all over the floor. At the same time, I half-expected him to come out of the bathroom, hair still wet from a shower, and telling me to sit down and talk about whatever was on my mind.

I sat on the bed, hoping he had gotten to the U.S. alright. I knew he had a connecting flight in New York. From there, he was on his way to Minneapolis. He did say he'd contact us once he was in the States. Surely, he had arrived in New York by now. Maybe he was tired and just wanted to rest. Maybe he didn't have time to call us. Maybe he meant he'd call us when he got to Minneapolis.

I stared in the dark bathroom for a minute, my mind wandering in a thousand places. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Wierzbowski peering into the bedroom from the hallway.

"You doing alright, Drake?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"In disbelief?"

I nodded.

Wierzbowski looked down at the floor, then back at me. "Why don't you take a shower, and join the rest of us in the lounge? I don't think stewing in your thoughts is good for you."

I felt a sob get caught in my throat.

Wierzbowski was patient. He didn't say a word as I continued to sit, thinking and staring. Eventually, though, he helped me stand up, and pulled me into a hug. "This isn't forever, OK? Don't let this sink too deep, Drake."

When I finally got around to showering, I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to go to the lounge, but Wierzbowski insisted I needed to be around everyone. I knew it wasn't a good idea for me to be alone, so I went.

Just like dinner, the lounge was a lot quieter without Hudson. I remembered what Hicks said about being more open with my emotions this morning, so I ended up covering my face and crying. Everywhere I turned, I had reminders of Hudson.

I'm not going to describe every instance in which I cried because I missed him and someone sat next to me in order to comfort me, because we'd be here all day. Point being, that day was one of the worst in my life. It was one of my lowest points since when my PTSD was at its worst. I felt like someone had ripped a piece of my heart out, and the wound was bleeding profusely.

* * *

I woke up at random points during the night. It was weird not hearing Hudson's snoring next door. As I stared at the clock, I was again hoping that he was OK, that he arrived at his destination.

Sighing, I got up, and went to Wierzbowski's room, unable to put up with the silence anymore. At least he didn't mind being woken up. He let me talk about what I was feeling and thinking, and then he admitted he's been having a hard time getting used to Hudson being gone.

"The vending machine still had plenty of those little packages of Oreos when Hicks told us all to go to bed," Wierzbowski said. "That's something I won't get used to seeing."

A weak smile tugged at the edges of my mouth. "Not at all. The pool games were far less interesting, too."

"I noticed. No smartass commentary. No riled-up Spunkmeyer."

"Poor Spunkmeyer."

"Yeah. He was as close to Hudson as you were."

"Do you think he's doing OK?"

"Who? Spunkmeyer? Honestly, that's a good question. He hasn't . . . said or done anything today."

"Think he's bottling it up?"

"Knowing Spunkmeyer, probably. He's still hurt over not being able to take care of the little girl we rescued from that infested colony."

I nodded. "I can talk to him in the morning, see what happens."

To make a long story short, I was surprised to find out that Spunkmeyer was handling Hudson's absence pretty well. Either he was better in-tuned with the fact that he'd be able to see him again soon, or (and this was what made me a little sad) he was used to losing people he cared about. I had a feeling it was the latter.

* * *

I did gradually get used to not having Hudson around, but that didn't make it any less painful. Even though four days passed, it felt like an eternity had gone by when Hicks came into the lounge one afternoon with a big smile on his face. "Come on down to the comm room, guys. Someone wants to say 'hi' to you."

You wouldn't believe how thrilled I was when I saw Hudson on one of the video screens in the comm room. It looked like he was sitting at a desktop in Miranda's apartment, and I could see a cup of coffee and a half-eaten donut on a napkin next to him. His eyes were kinda bloodshot, and overall, he looked exhausted. He gave a goofy grin and waved to us as we crowded one chair to see him. "Hey, guys!"

"Hey, nice of you to drop by, buddy," Hicks said. "We've missed you a lot."

"I had a feeling you would, man," Hudson replied, leaning back in his chair. "You're functioning without me?"

"Uh, for the most part."

"Drake has been crying every hour for you," Frost said.

I glared at him.

Hudson smirked. "Right. When I'm done with the rest of you, I wanna talk to Drake in private."

"What've you been doing? You said you'd call us as soon as you got to the States," Hicks said.

"Long story, man. My flight got delayed a couple hours, so, instead of getting to New York when it was . . . noon over there, it was about two-thirty in the afternoon. I really had no fucking clue what time it was when I got there, but I had thirty minutes to my connecting flight instead of an hour-and-a-half. I had to run through security, had no time to eat, and sit on a three-hour flight. I know it was five or later when I got to Minnesota, so I was tired and hungry, and I wasn't really sure what I was gonna do. Do I stay in my apartment, or get a hotel room, because I had to do a bunch of paperwork with putting my apartment back up for rent. I thought, 'OK, I can stay in the apartment.' Uh . . . no. I haven't exactly been there in a few years-"

"You never asked someone to watch your apartment while you were in the Marines?" Hicks glanced at the rest of us. "You know what? I'm not surprised. We love you, Hudson."

"Yeah, the place was disgusting, man. Dust everywhere, water damage from someone's pipe exploding five years ago. I . . . I actually thought I was gonna get in a lot of trouble for letting this happen, but I explained my situation to the building owner, and he said, 'I'll cut you some slack 'cause you're a veteran. Don't worry about it.' I did have to shell out some money to go towards cleanup and making sure it looked nice for the next rent, but it wasn't that big a deal. So, anyways, I stayed in a hotel room. Got everything I wanted from my apartment. Wasn't much, to be honest, man. Just pictures and stuff I had to leave behind when I got shipped out."

"Stuff you should've taken care of after you graduated boot camp."

"Yeah, yeah, this was a pain in the ass on my part, man. I was jet-lagged and tired and I felt like my head was gonna explode, but, I had already made a plan, and I needed to follow it, or else I was gonna be wasting a lot of money. So, I'm two hours behind schedule. I get my shit, I run to the airport, I'm on a flight to Washington, and I thought I could sleep on the plane . . . Ha, no. Dear God, no. Someone's two-year-old had a fucking tantrum, man. Hell, I can't even remember if it was day or night when I landed at Reagan. I just know Miranda was waiting for me for a long time, and I couldn't even explain to her what had happened. All I could say was, 'My flight to New York got delayed because of bad weather. I was very behind on everything. I had to put my apartment back up for rent. I'm exhausted.' There's more, but I'm . . . it's still a blur, man."

"Are you feeling OK?"

"Um . . . right now, I just feel off. The last two mornings, I woke up feeling really unsure of where I was. It's been strange not hearing someone beat on the door and yell at me to get up. Even though Miranda bought me a ton of civvie clothes, I put my uniform on this morning. My body isn't really sure what just happened. First, we got the shock of 'I'm not a Marine anymore,' and then the running around of the last three-four days, so my appetite's not really there and I've been having the shits."

"Did we really need to know that?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"Yes, you did, man." Hudson grinned again, then leaned further back in his chair and yawned. "Couple more days to rest up, and then I'm going job-hunting."

"Sounds good. Call us back soon, OK?" Hicks stood up, letting everyone say their goodbyes before letting me sit down.

I waited until everyone left the room before saying, "What's up?"

"Two things, man. I wanna know how you're doing."

"Honest?"

"Absolutely. I'm still your best friend, right?" Hudson smirked.

I sighed. "I've . . . been having trouble adjusting to not having you around. It just feels like the next four weeks or so are gonna drag."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I was worrying about you the whole flight to New York. I kinda wish I had done something a little more to ease your pain and make the next month a bit more bearable."

I shook my head. "I need to deal with it. Hicks said it's like a very mild grieving process."

"I'll try to contact you at least once a day, if I can. Figuring out timezones is giving me a headache right now, man."

I smiled. "You'll get it someday. Anything else you need?"

"Yeah-" Hudson looked off to his left, letting out a tired-sounding breath, "Miranda's at work right now, so we can talk about the wedding freely. I haven't proposed yet. I wanna make that a surprise."

"I thought she knew you were gonna propose."

"She doesn't even know I have the ring, man. I mean, yeah, she knows I'm gonna propose, but she's been thinking about it for almost a year."

"Oh, so, she doesn't know _when_ you're gonna propose. Gotcha."

"Exactly. I want it to be a special day for both of us, and . . . I dunno, I'm kinda scared of messing up, man."

"I think you'll be fine. Just don't lose the ring."

Hudson smirked. "I'll try, man. I'm thinking we'll go out to a restaurant we both enjoy, and then take a walk out to a pier on the river, and propose in the sunset. That's how they do it in the movies and I know she loves her romance movies way too much."

"Has she been torturing you with those the last couple days?"

"No. I told her I just want some quiet and that's what she's been giving me."

"Any idea what you're gonna do long-term, as far as a new career?"

"Well, yesterday, I got a phone call from someone who works with soldiers transitioning to civvie life, and he said my job as a combat tech opens a lotta doors for a career with computers and stuff like that. I said, 'Doesn't necessarily mean I want to continue that, man.' He said, 'Then, what do you want to do?' I replied, 'I wanna open my own bar or café or something like that.' He goes, 'You'll still have to do some college with business management classes.' I said, 'OK. I'll look around and call you back.'"

"Are you serious about this?"

"Leaning toward it, yeah. I kinda want to have that cozy little place where you can just sit and talk with friends, like we always did. I'm probably gonna work at a couple different places to get an idea of what to do before actually getting the necessary degrees and licenses."

"At least the military will pay for your schooling, that's for sure. I have no idea what I'm doing afterward."

"You'll figure it out, man." Hudson took a sip of his coffee. "You just need to look around and see what your options are."

I wished I could sit and talk to him for a few more hours, but Hicks came in to tell me I had to go. My heart was crushed.

"I'll call tomorrow, man," Hudson said. "You're almost there. You can do it, Drake."

Tears rolled down my face. "God, I want to give you a hug right now."

Hudson grinned, and held up four fingers. "You have this many weeks left, man. You'll be OK."

Hicks appeared next to me. "We're gonna let you go now, Hudson. Rest up."

"You're not my boss anymore, man!" Hudson laughed.

Hicks pressed a button to disconnect us, because he knew I'd sit there all day saying goodbye.

* * *

I would learn the next day that Hudson planned on proposing this coming Friday. Hicks decided to allow me two hours to talk to him in the afternoon, and I felt like that was helping me cope.

Truthfully, nothing really happened on my end over the last week. Other than people talking about Hicks's video chats with Ripley, there wasn't a lot of excitement. Oh, and I caught Spunkmeyer and Ferro kissing in the armory.

Hudson filled me in on his date with Miranda on Friday. They mainly talked about Hudson's potential career plan, partly because it's important, and also to keep Miranda somewhat distracted. Nothing has been set in stone, other than the fact that Hudson submitted several job applications to restaurants and the like throughout the D.C. area.

After dinner, Hudson walked with Miranda out to the pier. The river was quiet, aside from a couple boats out for a summer twilight cruise, planes taking off and coming into the airport, and the overall city ambience. It didn't stop Hudson from patting his pocket to make sure the ring was still with him. "Think I dropped something," he muttered.

He got down on one knee, pretending to search the deck for his imaginary missing item, and took the ring out of his jacket. "I've been meaning to . . . ask you something, and . . . I figured now was a good time."

Miranda stared at him with tears running down her face as he opened the tiny velvet box.

"Would you . . . W-Will you marry me?"

It took Miranda a moment to compose herself and give her answer. I can remember, four years ago, she didn't think the day would come when she found the true love of her life. Hell, I can remember when she thought she was dating me, of all people. We know how that story went. I'm not repeating it for the hundredth time.

A part of me had felt maybe Hudson wouldn't be a good fit for her in the beginning, and I'm glad I was wrong. They're almost perfect together. They can be a little obnoxiously lovey-dovey, but they've proven to have plenty of depth to their relationship (not like me and Vasquez . . . but close enough).

"Yes," Miranda said. "Absolutely, yes!"

When Hudson finished his story, I grinned before saying, "So, what do I have to do now? I'm still the best man, right?"

"We haven't set a date yet. I'm waiting to hear about your situation before making any kind of plans, and so far, Miranda's OK with that. I think she's asking Eliza to be her maid of honor."

I looked over my shoulder at Wierzbowski, who was waiting for a call from Eliza. "Hey, isn't it matron of honor if she's married?"

"Yeah," Wierzbowski replied. "Eliza had asked her sister, who's married, to be the matron of honor at our wedding, so, yeah, it's matron instead of maid."

"Thanks," Hudson said. "Anyway, we don't have a date, and . . . I guess we'll see what happens when you and Vasquez get your discharges, man."

"Hey, like I said, buddy, it's your wedding. You don't have to make me comfortable," I replied.

"And I told you I won't be happy if you're in the bathroom, having a panic attack, man. We'll work something out, I promise."

We disconnected, and I rubbed my face as I turned in my chair to face Wierzbowski. "I'm so scared right now, I don't even know how to describe it."

"Scared of what, Drake?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Of . . . Of not being able to leave."

Wierzbowski grinned. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Trust me."

Something told me I wasn't going to be able to understand that smile until the day of my meeting.

* * *

_Question: Has Drake improved with his ability to cope, or does he still have a ways to go in getting better?_


	11. Chapter 11

As we got closer to the day I had to meet with civvie representatives about whether or not I could become a civilian myself, my dreams got worse. Sometimes, I dreamt about the day I went to prison. Other times, I dreamt I was being sent back, with no chance of coming out again. They felt vivid and real, and I'd wake up at all hours in a cold sweat, or crying.

It was times like this where I wanted Hudson. I felt a horrid emptiness in my chest every time I woke up from a nightmare. As the days moved on, it felt like a hammer was beating down on my sense of optimism, trying to crush it till there was nothing left. Even when I wasn't having bad dreams, the days were filled with panic and hopelessness and an awful feeling of uncertainty surrounding leaving the Marines.

"Frankly, I don't think there's too much to worry about in terms of actually leaving," Doctor Ranelli told me when I finally sat down in his office a couple of mornings before my meeting.

"Why is everyone telling me that?" I moaned, rubbing my face.

"Because we had to submit reports about you to the representatives. Hicks selected five people to write summaries regarding why you should be allowed to leave and rejoin civilian society."

"And you were one of them?"

"No, but I did have to submit a psychological report."

"So, these people know about . . . what's wrong with me."

"It's a solid factor in why they'll let you go. Even though you've been receiving treatment and have shown a considerable amount of progress, staying in this type of environment might be slowing down your progress. Now, I did mention that the shock of moving from a military lifestyle to a civilian lifestyle might be temporary, but large setback in your progress, as well as the thought of you being separated from the people you've come to depend on for emotional support. Regardless, your PTSD has been taken into consideration as to why you should leave. They think it may be best for your mental health. I think it'll be better for your mental health if you leave. You doing something productive for civilian society will help you feel like you've righted your wrongs. It will help you feel like you've proven that you're not the lost teenager you once were."

"See, that's . . . that's another thing that's driving me nuts. I don't know what to do when I leave. I'm not good for anything except carrying a big weapon around."

"Stop right there. You are good for things, if you take the time to examine your personal talents. If you think about it, Drake, you would make a fine therapist. You have an ability to connect with someone on an emotional level and read them. You care deeply about how someone is feeling, and you strive to help them feel better. That's what I've observed between you and your companions."

"That's just between them," I said. "I could never do it with strangers."

"I used to think the same thing right before I started taking classes. The thing about therapy is that it's very flexible. There's different types and methods of helping people analyze and overcome their emotional problems. Even something as simple as talk therapy-what I did with you-varies from psychologist to psychologist. My personal method consists of getting to know you and getting to know your behaviors and thought patterns, before figuring out what would work best for you for every session. You might like it, and your clients might like you a lot more than you think they would."

I sighed. "I haven't even fully managed my PTSD yet."

"You still have some hurdles, but not as many as you did when you started. There will always be hurdles. Always. As I've said before, it's not something that can be cured, but the more you learn about it and how it effects you, you can better manage the symptoms and prevent them from severely disrupting your daily life."

"Well, I'm not going into psychology. That means college. I don't want to do college. It means . . . classrooms a-and a lot of people and they're all gonna be younger than me and the feeling that people are gonna pressure me into saying and doing things I don't want to do. I-I don't want to be known as the guy who refuses to talk to people. I can't do it."

"You need something that offers you similar comradeship to the Marines. You need to be surrounded by somewhat like-minded individuals, who would understand you when you spoke to them."

I nodded a little. "Spunkmeyer . . . told me becoming a police officer might be a good idea."

"Absolutely. Anything in the security field would be excellent for you. It's similar to what you do now, and it offers you a sense of comradeship. If you're serious about that, you are going to need to take some tests that will allow you to handle firearms."

"I'm coming from the military, though. Doesn't that-"

"Will not apply to a civilian job. There are certain licenses you need, and you will need to take some psychological exams in order to be qualified."

"Jesus. If I have to do a psych exam, I'll fail."

"Not true. Three or four years ago, you may have failed, but you do have a good chance of succeeding now. I'd be happy to get some of this set up for you after you get settled."

"You'd do that?" I took a breath. "If . . . you think being part of security personnel somewhere is good for me, I'll . . . give it a shot."

* * *

All I knew that morning was that I would be going in before Vasquez. Hicks was nice enough to get real coffee for everyone, but he was saving the real food for our departure date.

He sounded convinced Vasquez and I were leaving, so I guess I shouldn't worry too much.

After breakfast, I followed Hicks and Apone down to an office where two guys in nice suits were sitting at a desk. Everyone shook hands, and Apone and Hicks sat behind me while I faced the two guys. The room was way too quiet for my liking; I was afraid everyone in a ten-foot distance could hear my heart beating.

"Everything OK? You look a bit nervous," one of the reps said.

I gulped. "F-Fine. I'm fine."

"You've served six years in the USCM, in order to terminate a life sentence for triple homicide, grand theft auto, and leaving the scene of a crime. You do know just enlistment won't clear your name, correct?"

"I know." I swallowed again, past a round of tears slowly working its way up my throat. "I know for damn sure I'm guilty as all hell. Not denying what I did."

The rep looked at Hicks. "Corporal, were you correct in stating you believe Private Drake should be allowed to become a civilian?"

"Absolutely, sir," Hicks replied.

"Is there anything about Drake you feel might put him at risk of committing a similar crime?"

"No, sir."

"Can you briefly summarize your report in favor of Drake rejoining society?"

"I can summarize it with the words of the people he's worked with for the last six years. I can summarize it with his actions, and . . . I guess the feeling people get when he's in a room. I know at first glance, he doesn't look warm, or friendly, but you don't necessarily have to wear a smile on your face all the time to be a good person. I've been serving for a little over nine years, and I have never encountered someone like Drake before. If I just met him today, it would never cross my mind that he had once been a juvenile felon. That's how much he's changed and grown."

"Do you believe his diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder has been a hindrance in his daily performance?"

"No, sir."

"If he was to be given, say, another two years of service, you believe he'd cope well?"

My heart skipped a beat. _Two years? No, no, no . . ._

"I think he would at first, but would begin to falter after some time."

_No, please, no! I can't stay another two years! Don't do this to me!_

I was covering my face with my hands, and through my fingers, I saw a paper being slid in front of me.

The rep gestured to the bottom of the paper. "Sign the left space if you want to negotiate a new contract. Sign the right space if you want to receive your discharge, with full benefits, and a wiped criminal record."

The silence returned, aside from my heartbeat. I looked over my shoulder at Hicks and Apone. Hicks was nodding and smiling at me. I knew I was going to be leaving them behind. I knew it would likely be a long time before I ever saw Hicks again.

I signed the right space anyway.

I felt like another weight lifted off my shoulders.

* * *

Vasquez was getting out, too, thank God. We didn't get all excited and jumped up and down when we realized we were so close to leaving and not having to hide our relationship anymore. We spent some time alone together, laying next to each other and expressing our happiness in a way only we could understand.

Vasquez was smiling and crying at the same time. I was grinning like an idiot and petting her head.

"I don't have a ring, yet," I whispered.

"I know you don't," she whispered back.

"But I'm not gonna tell you when I get one."

"You couldn't surprise me if you tried."

"Is that a challenge? If so, I accept." I kissed her cheek. "I love you."

Her smile got bigger. "I love you, too."

I hugged her, and pulled her closer. "On our first day in our new house, I'm gonna make you breakfast in bed."

"If you get out of bed before I do. I think you're going to sleep till noon."

I smirked, kissing her again. This much bliss after a month of sadness and uncertainty felt like someone put my heart in the basket of a hot air balloon as it floated away.

Of course, I had to tell Hudson. That afternoon, I eagerly awaited his call, sitting in front of the screen in the comm room with a smile on my face. My heart beat faster when the words "Call incoming . . . Signal origin: Washington, D.C., U.S.A." appeared onscreen.

It was only eight in the morning on the East Coast, so it didn't come as a surprise Hudson was holding a bowl of cereal and had a cup of coffee and two chocolate-chip muffins on his desk (well, Miranda's desk, but for some reason, she's allowing him to make a mess . . . that's true love right there). He smirked when he saw me. "That was fast, man."

"I've been waiting hours to tell you something," I said.

"What? Oh, shit, today was your meeting . . . how'd that go?" Hudson put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

"I'm getting my discharge."

Hudson swallowed, and set down his bowl. He stood up, and I heard him go to the door and yell, "Miranda! Drake's getting out!"

"Seriously?" Miranda shrieked excitedly.

"Yeah!"

"Tell him I can't wait to see him soon. I gotta get going. See you tonight, sweetie."

"Love you, pumpkin." Hudson gave Miranda a kiss before coming back to the computer desk. "Sorry, man, I had to tell her. Now, we can set a wedding date! When're you leaving?"

"This coming Saturday. Vasquez is going with me."

"That's awesome, man. You're coming right here?"

"Right to the city, yeah."

"You won't be mad if we come and meet you guys, would you?"

"No, not at all. I look forward to it." A feeling of longing slowly pierced through my chest. "I look forward to seeing you in person again."

"I look forward to seeing you, too, man. Good luck, and we'll see you soon."

* * *

I didn't do anything elaborate the way Hudson did, but I felt awful that Wierzbowski still had four months before he could get his discharge.

"I'll be OK," Wierzbowski told me. "I'll look after Spunkmeyer, and Hicks. I know Hicks probably doesn't need looking after . . . but he's going to miss you."

"I'll miss him, that's for sure," I replied. "Hopefully, we'll get to see each other for holidays and stuff like that."

"Hudson's making him one of the groomsmen, right?"

"Yep."

"You'll see each other sooner, then." Wierzbowski paused, giving me a nervous glance. "Is he making me a groomsman?"

"There's you, Hicks, Frost, and Spunkmeyer."

"Ah. Same as mine, except I added Crowe."

"Hudson said he's working on keeping it somewhat small. So far, Miranda hasn't given him a hard time on it, but she's worried about what certain people in her family might say."

"Eliza's family is a pain in the ass to deal with," Wierzbowski sighed. "Remember how she showed up at base one night, crying-"

"Because her cousins weren't being very helpful during her dress fitting? Yeah, I remember. I don't know what it is with girls and making a dress-fitting a big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's a wedding gown. It's something she's only going to wear on that special day, and . . . maybe she can pass it down to her daughter."

"You and Eliza still haven't discussed kids, have you?"

"We did, but . . . I was honest when I said I don't feel ready. I'll bring it up again when I feel . . . more ready."

* * *

I can't believe I'm sitting here, writing my first entry as a civilian, on a plane. I'm so in awe right now that I'm not even queasy.

It's a long flight, so, get cozy.

I woke up pretty early this morning and got dressed before heading to the courtyard to do some thinking. To be honest, I didn't know what to think about. Maybe it was just to enjoy the Venetian air one last time.

Last night, Hicks took me and Vasquez out for a drink, where he revealed to us that he had suspected since day one that the two of us were in love.

"It was pretty hard not to read your body language around each other," Hicks said. "That's why I wasn't surprised when Drake told me you were getting on getting married when you became civilians."

Vasquez glared at me. "You told him?"

"On LV-426. He asked me what my plan was for when I became a civvie, and I . . . I told him," I said.

Instead of locking herself in her mind, Vasquez let her guard down. She sighed before rubbing my shoulder and calling me an idiot in Spanish. Then she looked at Hicks. "How come you never said anything?"

"I would've stepped in and said something if your relationship was effecting your performance on the job. Not to mention, I knew you both came from the same prison, and went through boot camp together. That's what it said on your papers. You didn't start this the day you entered this unit. That much I could tell. And, listening to you, I can tell you don't let petty shit get in the way of what you're supposed to do. That's why I let it go."

I glanced at Vasquez, then back at Hicks. "Well, I guess we don't have to hide the fact that we love each other anymore." With that, I hugged Vasquez, and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

Hicks actually smiled, and took a sip of his drink. "If you need anything while you're getting settled, don't hesitate to call me. I've got way too many leave days under my belt, and Apone's threatening to tell Russell if I don't start using more."

"I think we'll be OK," I said.

Hicks was quiet for a moment. When Vasquez got up to use the restroom, Hicks took that opportunity of it being just me and him to talk to me about something on his mind. "I kinda have to keep reminding myself that Ellen Ripley isn't Paige Carlisle. She doesn't know what happened with . . . all the stuff in my past and my . . . my issues."

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"Not like something bad, but I just needed to step back and talk to somebody else so I can go back into this with a little more . . . I guess confidence is the right word." Hicks glanced at his glass, then pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Anyway, when I was at home with Newt and Ellen and getting them adjusted, I found it difficult to find things to talk about, and for a moment, I was wondering if I had made a mistake. I panicked on the inside, and in doing so, I kinda revealed to her-Ellen-my little nervous habits and I found myself . . . closing myself off again, similar to how I was before Paulson's death. You know, I was wearing my scarf around the house so I could play with it. Every moment I was outside, I smoked-not casual, like I'm doing now. I mean, once one was out, I lit another. She took notice of that, and was really quick to associate it with my nerves."

"Any idiot would be able to tell you're nervous just by watching you play with your scarf and smoke your cigarettes," I snorted.

"She's not an idiot, Drake. She noticed I was nervous, and I had to be honest that I wasn't comfortable taking our conversations further. I don't know if she appreciated the fact that I walked away rather than faced them, but I feel it's what I had to do so I don't . . . break down or explode. I know what happens when I come close to breaking down or exploding; it sets me on a path to either mania or depression, and I don't want either of those coming back."

"OK, so you did the right thing by coming back to your unit and talking to people who care about you. You shouldn't be ashamed over that. I mean, you're not gonna have me anymore, so-"

"Drake, let's hold the phone right there. This is not about you. I can talk to Wierzbowski, or Spunkmeyer or anyone else in this unit."

I felt like I got punched in the stomach.

"Don't give me that look. I'm going to miss you as much as I miss Hudson-"

"Well, you could've stated that earlier! You made it sound like you weren't gonna miss me at all!"

Vasquez sat back down next to me. "You really want to start fighting several hours before you're supposed to leave?"

I released my breath. "No."

Hicks shook his head. "I worded my thoughts wrong, Drake, I'm sorry."

This morning, he apologized for every fight we had that we never properly resolved. Like Hudson's departure day, we had real food for breakfast, and within a couple hours, we left our rooms with our duffel bags over our shoulders.

My first pause was in front of Ferro. We never argued. Not once. I know her crush on me a few years ago was what led to me telling her I was already with Vasquez, and then she and Spunkmeyer decided to revisit old feelings. I didn't bother shaking her hand; I went right for a tender hug.

Ferro took a breath, tears rolling down her face. "I'm gonna miss you, Drake."

I hugged her a little tighter. "I'll miss you, too."

She stood on her toes to kiss my cheek, and I kissed hers, even though it was wet with tears. I rubbed her back, whispering that everything would be OK and that she'd see me again soon.

Next, I stopped in front of Spunkmeyer. The poor guy was already crying, so I gripped his shoulder, saying, "You gonna make it?"

He nodded, but the tears flowed more.

Sighing, I hugged him. "You'll make it, buddy. You got an important job to do; keep your girlfriend happy. Can you do that?"

Again, he nodded, and looked up at me, hazel eyes sparkling. "I'll do the best I can."

I patted his shoulder, and then moved on to Wierzbowski. I now know how Hudson felt standing in front of me on the day he left; if I had any reason to stay, it would be Wierzbowski. Unlike when Hudson left, though, Wierzbowski was smiling through his tears. He looked proud, and that made me try to smile through my own tears.

"You've got a fresh new life ahead of you," Wierzbowski said. "That's what you've wanted."

I nodded. I knew I was starting fresh, but I also knew my memories weren't going to leave me alone anytime soon. We hugged, and I really tried not to sob like I did with Hudson. Wierzbowski patted my back, looking down at me. Eventually, he let go.

"This isn't goodbye," he said. "We'll see each other soon. Let me know when you get settled so we can visit you."

My chest was aching so much, I'm surprised I didn't suffer a silver flower flashback because of it. My last pause was in front of Hicks. He held out his hand, and I took it, shaking it firmly.

"Take care of yourself, Drake," he said, softly. "You're gonna go places, you're gonna meet people. You're gonna get everything you've ever wanted. I know it." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he took a breath, tears forming in his eyes.

"Are you gonna be OK?" I asked.

Hicks didn't respond right away. We had worked together for six long, tumultuous years. I couldn't believe we were parting ways, and I don't think he did, either. He was trying not to burst into tears. I could see the unbearable pain behind his eyes.

Hicks typically isn't generous with his hugs, not like Hudson is. Hudson hugs everyone he knows whenever he damn well pleases, while Hicks saves his for certain moments. This was one of those moments. He initiated the hug, gripping me hard. I think he was having a hard time putting his thoughts into words, and I didn't want to imagine how he felt if he finally managed to interpret his thoughts, but I was long gone. I hoped this hug was enough.

When we half-pulled away, Hicks's face and eyes were red. I wanted to tell him he didn't have to hold his composure. Finally, he let out his breath, and more tears rolled down his cheeks. "I think Paulson would've loved to know you. I think he would've loved to see what his plan was able to produce."

That's why I was so special to Hicks. That's why he tried so hard to help me when I was first diagnosed with PTSD. Not only was it because he understood what I was going through, but because I met him due to his old mentor's program. He didn't want his friend's plan to fail.

"What was Paulson's first name, again?" I asked.

"Adrian," Hicks replied. "Why?"

"If . . . I have a son, would you be OK with me naming him after Paulson?"

A smile blossomed on Hicks's face. "You go do whatever you fucking want, Drake. If you wanna name your son after Paulson, that's fine by me. And if you have a daughter . . . call her Adriana, if you want." Hicks patted my shoulder one last time before letting me go.

Like the day Hudson left, the rest of the unit followed us out to where a bus was waiting to take us to the airport. We were flying right to D.C., no connecting flights, no extra stops. I waved to everyone, and even Vasquez was giving out her last handshakes and hugs.

A ball of nervousness and excitement was sitting in the pit of my stomach as I got on the bus. I looked out the window at my teammates, my brothers and sisters, my friends. They were the family I didn't have growing up. They were always going to be my real family.

As the bus drove away, I saw Hicks was the only one standing by the gate, watching us leave. He didn't pull out his cigarettes. He watched, and I could've sworn I saw the glint of a tear rolling down his face as the rising sun hit it.

* * *

Fortunately, our flight wasn't being delayed today, but we had a little bit of time before needing to board. After getting some coffee, we sat near our gate, in silence. We were surrounded by civilians, none of whom took notice of us. I put my arm around Vasquez, and nuzzled her cheek. "You doing OK, honey?"

"Not sure yet. I feel . . . almost lost," Vasquez replied.

I nodded a little. "We'll be fine. We can do this." I kissed her. "Besides, you can talk to me about anything on your mind."

"I don't know how to explain it, Drake."

I thought for a moment. "You know, we can call each other by our first names, now."

"It's going to be a very long time before I get used to calling you 'Mark.'"

I smirked. "You sure about that, Jenette?" I kissed her again. "We'll be home before we know it."

Vasquez glanced at me, then rested her head on my shoulder.

When our flight was announced, I tapped her nose. "That's us, baby, time to get up, and then go sleep on the plane."

"Don't do that, Drake."

She's been asleep for the last several hours, while I've been writing and finally enjoying that glass of mimosas I asked Hicks about when Hudson left. It's been a good flight so far, but I should stop drinking and get some sleep myself if I'm going to be able to function when I get off the plane.

* * *

_Question: How do you think the loss of three of his best Marines will effect Hicks's mental health?_


	12. Chapter 12

I woke up when I felt the slight jolt of the plane landing and rolling down the runway. The stewardess had already taken my empty glass, and as the plane slowed down, I fumbled around for my wallet so I could give her a tip.

For a few minutes, the plane was taxiing behind another plane that had landed not that long before us. I gave the stewardess her tip, and woke up Vasquez by kissing her cheek. "We're home, sweetie," I whispered.

"Are we still on the plane?" she asked.

"Yeah-"

"Then we're not home yet. Keep your pants on, Drake."

The plane finally stopped, and we were allowed out of our seats to grab our bags and head out to the terminal. We hadn't taken two steps into the airport itself when I spotted two familiar faces in the gate's waiting area. Miranda was holding a sign that read "Welcome Home," and Hudson stood up to bear-hug me.

"Hey, man!" Hudson squeezed me, and I dropped my bag to squeeze him back.

I didn't want to start crying in public, but I hadn't physically seen Hudson in a month and, Goddammit, I missed him. I hugged him tightly and let my tears soak his T-shirt.

"Told you it wouldn't be too long, man," Hudson said, patting my back. He smiled as he pulled away. "Hey, Miranda and I will drive you out to your new place, then we can all talk." His smile faded as he searched my eyes. "You OK, Drake?"

I was suddenly struggling to figure out how I was feeling. What had just happened? Was this actually real?

"Drake? Hello?" Hudson waved his hand in front of my face. "Hey, you in there?"

I blinked. "I don't know."

Hudson looked at Miranda. "Honey, let's just take them home."

"Is everything OK?" Miranda asked.

"I think Drake's a little disoriented. He'll feel better after he sits for a couple hours."

"Alright, when you say 'home,' are you talking about our place, or theirs?"

"Um, let's go to theirs. I think they should start settling in."

It took a little over an hour for Miranda to drive out to a road along the river, in the suburban limits of the D.C. area. I wasn't fully paying attention to where we were going; my mind was racing and I felt like I was going to crash at any minute.

The house Doctor Hornby had left me in his will was situated on a quiet, tree-lined street. It's a fairly large, older home-you can't miss it; it's got a big front porch with a swing and two porch-lights on the steps. The whole house is pale-gray with navy-blue shutters, and so is the garage. As of now, we don't have a car, but I'm hoping it's not that long of a walk to a Metro stop.

I was just glad that Delhoun had kept his promise in keeping the place nice. Every piece of furniture and appliance we needed was already there, so we barely had to do anything except turn the power on and put stuff where we wanted it.

I dropped my bag in the living room, which had a pair of doors leading to the backyard. The yard already had an aboveground pool, a small patio, and a metal fence so you didn't tumble over the cliff and into the river. It wasn't a long fall, but it was enough to where you could seriously hurt yourself if you did.

Hudson had set a box on the kitchen counter. "Hicks sent you guys a big ol' package of something," he said. "You know . . . if you wanna know what it is, man." He watched me sit on the couch, and glanced at the staircase as Miranda and Vasquez headed up with our duffel bags. Once they were upstairs, Hudson looked at me again. "Is there something you wanna talk about, Drake?"

"I'm not sure what I'm doing, that's all," I muttered. "I'm . . . I'm supposed to be happy, but I'm not happy. I'm scared. I don't know what to do."

Hudson sat next to me. "Talk, man. Go ahead and talk."

I couldn't talk. Instead, I burst into tears.

Putting his arms around me, Hudson rubbed my back, letting me cry in his shoulder. "It'll be OK, man. You're overwhelmed. I get it."

For the first several hours in my new home, I couldn't put a single thought into words. I was in shock, in disbelief. I was missing the rest of my unit. I was afraid this was going to be ripped away from me soon. Why, dear God, was I not happy?

Hudson and Miranda stayed, helping Vasquez get things set up. "If you need anything, just ask," Miranda said. "I left our number by the phone." She looked over her shoulder. "Will, sweetie, what are you doing?"

"They got no groceries," Hudson replied, closing the fridge. "I thought . . . we could take 'em out to dinner, or we can order something and eat here, or go back to our apartment. Up to them, though."

Vasquez sighed. "I'm fine with going out. What do you think, Drake?"

I was still on the couch, fermenting in my emotions, but my stomach was growling loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear.

Vasquez was giving me a look when I didn't verbally respond. "I can't believe after eight years of dating, this is the first time I'm dragging your ass out the door to go someplace instead of the other way around."

"Well, that settles it. We're going out, man. Also, I'm hungry, too," Hudson chirped.

"What else is new?"

Vasquez's remark actually made me smile a bit. It made me feel like I was back with my unit, swapping insults and smartass comments.

* * *

The good news was that we only had to walk about three blocks to get to a Metro stop. From there, we could go anywhere we wanted in the city. Hudson and Miranda treated us to dinner at a small restaurant in a busy part of Rosslyn, and what made me start to feel better was the conversation topic of (you guessed it) their wedding.

"We haven't set an exact date yet, but we're shooting for mid-October," Hudson said.

"You got engaged in July, so . . . you feel like three months is enough time to plan?" I asked.

"We . . . We agreed we're not having a large and overly extravagant wedding."

"No. It's just gonna be close family and friends," Miranda added. "We're trying to make compromises, though, so I agreed we'll have a small wedding, he needs to agreed on something I'd like."

"Yeah, yeah, we're doing the fucking gray and white color scheme. But, we gotta have more than champagne at this thing, pumpkin."

"If you want beer, you and your best man are gonna have to take care of that."

"You can have fun with champagne," I snorted.

"No one is going to be slobbering drunk at our wedding," Miranda said, firmly, "Especially the groom."

"OK," Hudson mumbled. "I will behave, I promise."

"So, that's as far as you've gotten?" I said.

"Yeah. We'll start getting more organized, soon. Shouldn't take long to get a list set up and divide stuff between my party and her party." Hudson snapped his fingers. "That's right, you get to plan my bachelor party, man."

"Oh, yay." I took a sip of my drink, rolling my eyes. "Have you gotten a job lined up yet?"

"Not quite. I've been in talks with some colleges about applying there. I'm actually gonna visit one in a couple weeks, and I've been doing my research about what I need to open my own place. Nothing's set in stone yet, man."

"But you know this is what you want."

"Yeah."

I shrugged. "Well, I'm not gonna stand in your way. Doctor Ranelli said he's gonna help me with getting my exams set up for a firearms permit so I can look for a security job."

Hudson glanced at Vasquez. "And what're you gonna do?"

She briefly made eye contact with him, looking kinda perturbed. "Not sure yet."

Mainly, that's all we talked about: jobs and weddings. We didn't return home until around ten at night, and by then, my energy was sapped. It had been sapped before, but at this point, it was gone altogether.

It felt weird, referring to this place as home.

Vasquez showered first, leaving me to do whatever I wanted. I wandered around the house, both upstairs and downstairs. It was really quiet, aside from the water running upstairs.

I heard sirens, and looked out the window to see blue and red flashes racing down the parkway across the river. I really struggled to shut out the memories of the day my life completely changed, but they grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the kitchen floor, breathing hard. _This is a dream. It's all a dream. I'm going to wake up back with my unit, but no chance of getting out._

Someone touched my shoulder, and I looked to see Vasquez kneeling next to me. "What's going on, Drake?"

"Is this a dream?" I asked.

"No." Vasquez helped me stand. "Come on, get up. Go take a shower, and let's go to bed."

* * *

I woke up this morning to a brilliant sunrise spilling in through the window. The clock read seven AM. Hicks should be going around, knocking on everyone's doors-

Oh, wait.

I sighed, rubbing my face. Vasquez was still asleep next to me. A part of me didn't want to wake her, but I remembered what I said while we were prepping our smartguns for LV-426, how I was going to kiss her till she woke up.

Giving a contented sigh, I pulled her closer, and kissed her cheek. When she didn't respond, I pressed my forehead against hers, then kissed the tip of her nose.

That woke her up. I expected her to punch me, but instead, she stretched, and put her arms around me. "Good morning, dumbass."

"Good morning, sweetheart," I whispered back. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. You?"

"Surprisingly OK." I grinned a little. "You ready to get up?"

"And do what? We don't have jobs yet."

"Well, I gotta call Doctor Ranelli about getting my exams set up so I can get a job. We can't live on what we've got left from the Marines."

"Didn't you say the house is already paid for?"

"I think Delhoun is taking care of the bulk of the mortgage. We still-I still owe something, though." I sat up, stretching. "It feels nice not to be rushed."

"Or having to run off to my own room without getting caught."

"That's a plus. You get to stay right here with me." I hugged Vasquez.

"Since we're both already awake, we may as well get dressed." Vasquez nuzzled my face, and patted my head. "You can stop now."

"I'm not done." I hugged her tighter.

"Down, Drake."

"Aww." I let go, and then rolled out of bed.

It was after we both got out of bed when we realized we needed to hit the stores-all we had were our uniforms. I mean, for today, it wasn't that big a deal, but we needed to go get civvie clothes today. After I put my PT clothes on, I headed downstairs, and realized we don't have any food, either. I know we can easily take a walk to a breakfast joint somewhere in town, but the fact that the fridge and cabinets were completely bare just made me hungrier.

As much as I appreciated Vasquez trying to be the voice of common sense in saying we needed to make a list of things we really needed before going anywhere, I didn't want to even attempt to think on an empty stomach, so I argued that we should get something to eat first.

"You're not going to starve to death if we don't go someplace right this minute," Vasquez replied. "Sit down, and let's write things down so we don't waste every cent we have on stuff we don't need."

I decided to grab a glass of water . . . but we didn't have any glasses. "Write down glasses, honey."

"Seriously, we have no glasses?"

"No. Delhoun forgot to get cups, mugs, silverware, plates, all that shit."

Vasquez shook her head, sighing. "Jesus. Alright. What are the basics we need in terms of food?"

"Milk, eggs, bread, butter-"

"You know how to cook, right?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

Vasquez bit her lip. "Can you teach me?"

I smiled. "I sure can, sweetheart."

"Alright. We'll grab . . . pasta, chicken . . . cheese-"

"Wait, you mean sliced cheese for sandwiches, or do you want me to make chicken alfredo?"

"I don't know. Both."

"OK. I guess if we're doing that, we should get cereal, snacks, beer-"

Vasquez gave me a look. "You sound like Hudson. Besides, when we were leaving the restaurant last night, I saw a liquor store with your favorite whiskey in the window." A small smile came across her face. "I thought we'd get a case of that instead."

I smirked back. "OK. I thought you said we'd only get things we need."

"I did. We can get things we want, too, as long as you promise to call Ranelli today and not put your tests off."

"I promise, then."

* * *

I guess this is what it feels like to go grocery shopping as a civilian. There were no rules on what we could and couldn't buy and bring home. After breakfast at a café, we headed to a mall to get clothing. I was pretty adamant that the most important things we needed were socks and underwear, so we filled the cart with several packages of socks and underwear.

Vasquez is not a girly-girl, so we didn't spend hours upon hours looking at how cute or how sexy a shirt was. She got she needed and moved on-although she did ask my opinion on a pair of pajamas, because she wanted at least one sexy thing to wear for nights we felt like "having fun."

Overall, going shopping for the essentials wasn't boring or mind-numbing. I mean, it was a new experience and probably will get boring as time goes on, but, for now, we enjoyed ourselves. What surprised me was how Vasquez was . . . a little more open, I guess is the right word. She didn't look closed off or cold, but I still got the sense that she wasn't a people-person. Then again, it was just me around.

I'm worried about how her first job will go. She's not as flexible as I am with her emotions. I don't see her mouthing off to her boss (she never, _ever_ mouthed off to Apone or Hicks), but I do see her not putting up with even a hint of shit from her co-workers. Part of it is her personality, and the other is the fact that the military is the only thing she knows. When you get in trouble, you're called out and punished. That's not how it works in a civvie job. Yelling at someone on the job is just going to get _you_ in trouble, and not the other person, and I can see Vasquez getting frustrated with the fact that someone screwing up isn't getting punished right then and there.

That was one of the best parts about having such a close-knit unit. If someone was having problems, they always had somebody to turn to for help. We looked out for each other and knew almost everything about each other. I'm not all that sure if things are like that with a civilian job. You go to work, and then you go home. In the Marines, you're stuck with each other 24/7, 365 days a year, until you get your discharge. In a civvie job, you're only stuck with each other for seven, eight hours a day. Maybe you form relationships, maybe you don't. I've heard Miranda complain about her co-workers. I've never heard anyone in my unit complain about their teammates.

Thinking about that prompted me to call Ranelli and get my exams scheduled as soon as we got home and put everything away.

"The psychological exam contains two parts," Ranelli explained. "One is a written exam, the other is a verbal interview. Both of those I can do with you, no problem. The written exam is a series of true-or-false questions."

"Are there any . . . 'in-between' or 'I don't know' answers?"

"No. Just true-false. The verbal interview is where you can go into as much detail as you like."

I ran my fingers through my hair, pacing the kitchen. "Are there a lot of questions on the test?"

"Around five-hundred-seventy."

"Good God."

"I can have you isolated while you take the test."

"If you can do anything to make me less afraid of this, that'd be great."

"What, specifically, are you afraid of?"

"Failing this thing. It's a psychological exam; I have post-traumatic stress. By default, I should fail."

"You've been in treatment for close to four years. I believe I've mentioned to you that you have a much greater chance at succeeding than you did four years ago."

I took a deep breath. "What's the closest date you can schedule this?"

"Two days from now."

"Alright. Let's . . . Let's do this."

* * *

Vasquez was snuggled against me as we sat on the couch that night, browsing the TV channels. At one point, she pressed the mute button, and put her head on my shoulder. "You seem lost in thought. What's going on?"

"Scared I'm gonna fail this fucking test," I muttered.

"Ah. Your therapist is giving it to you, right?"

"Yeah."

"You should be fine. If he thinks you can play with guns in a civvie job, you'll get your permits with no issue. Besides, you were a Marine. People will hire you."

"Have you started looking for a job yet?" I asked.

"No. I don't know where to start or what to do."

"Start with something small, part-time. It won't be your forever job. You can move around." I kissed her. "Everything'll be fine." I looked at my watch. "Almost time for lights-out."

"That's not funny, Drake."

I smirked. "You don't wanna go upstairs and . . . have some fun?"

Vasquez sighed. "You realize it's probably going to be a few years before I give you the OK to do it without protection."

"You mean, when we're ready to have a baby?"

"Yes, stupid."

"Ah, alright. Hell, we're not even married yet. I gotta get on that."

"Why don't you do that after Hudson gets married? I don't think you need the stress of planning for two weddings at the same time."

"No, I don't. You're right; we'll wait till Hudson gets married, and then we'll focus on us." I gently took her face to kiss her on the lips. "I love you."

Smiling, Vasquez hugged me tighter, nuzzling my cheek. "I love you, too, Drake."

Truthfully, we didn't do anything that night because I ended up falling asleep on the couch like an old man.

* * *

_Question: What do you think Hudson's biggest struggle will be when he starts college?_


	13. Chapter 13

I didn't make Vasquez breakfast in bed for our first morning as civilians, so I had to do it for our second morning as civilians, because I don't want to be the type of guy who says he's going to do something, and then doesn't do it.

This is my first time doing my own cooking outside of the classes I took. I had written down a couple of the recipes from those classes in one of my journals, and spent a good half-hour searching through them to figure out which one. When I did find it, I marked it with an "R" in silver Sharpie on the spine.

I keep all my journals inside my nightstand. Vasquez knows not to go in it, and I trust her, so I'm not paranoid about anyone going through it. They're organized, date-wise. Inside the front cover is a space where you can write down the date you started, and the date you filled the book. It's what I spent most of last night doing when I couldn't get back to sleep last night. It had to be around two in the morning when I was tossing and turning and figured I needed to do something mind-numbing to get my brain to just shut down.

I was halfway through lining up my journals inside the nightstand when Vasquez woke up and saw the light was on. "Drake . . . what the fuck are you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep, honey, I'm sorry," I mumbled, not looking at her.

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah, just . . . doing something to turn my head off."

Vasquez watched me for a few minutes before dropping back off to sleep. She was still asleep when I got up to do breakfast.

I headed downstairs in nothing but a pair of shorts and socks, and saw the package sent to us by Hicks. As far as I know, he sent it to Hudson to give it to us when we got here, and we haven't opened it yet. I picked up the package, noticing it was really heavy, and heard glass clinking inside. On one side were, of course, addresses and names, and Hicks had bolded the words "This End Up" on it, along with a marker-note saying, "_Thought you might like this, Drake!_"

A smirk crossed my face as I opened a drawer and took out my service knife to open the box. The grin got bigger when I saw twelve jars of Hicks's home-brewed, secret-recipe raspberry iced tea-he knows damn well I love this stuff. And there was a letter.

"_Drake & Vasquez, congratulations on serving out your terms and making it home. I thought this would make a lovely welcome-home gift for you two-mainly Drake, though-so I worked on it while I was helping Ellen and Newt settle in. If you'd like this at your wedding (or if Hudson would like some at his), let me know. My number and address are on the back of this letter, so don't throw it away.  
_

"_I wish you the best of luck with your new lives. You worked hard to try and heal the scars of your past, and I hope you find new careers and opportunities that'll make you both happy beyond your dreams. It was honor serving alongside you. Love, Cpl. Dwayne Hicks (P.S., Drake, I dare you to figure out my recipe. Call me when you think you have it so I can rip it to shreds and tell you exactly why you never will)._"

"I think I will try to figure out your recipe," I said, laughing.

After putting the jars in the fridge to chill, I set to work making a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and bagels with cream cheese, as well as a pot of coffee. Everything was going extraordinarily smooth when I heard a knock at the door. I realized I had no shirt on, and I was worried it was someone we didn't know. This shouldn't be the neighbors first impression of me-

I sighed when I looked out the window to see Hudson standing on the porch. Taking the frying pan off the burner, I turned everything off before going to the door.

"Good morning, man!" Hudson hugged me before walking into the house. "How's it going-ooh, are you making breakfast?"

_You just invited yourself into my house, and now you expect me to feed you. _"It's for me and Vasquez. We were not anticipating any guests this morning," I said.

"I woulda called, but I don't have your house number, man," Hudson replied. "Sorry."

"Alright. What do you want, Hudson?"

He sat at the nook facing the kitchen. "We gotta talk about the wedding, man. It's two months from now, and we don't have anything set up."

I went back into the kitchen to finish up. He had a perfectly valid point for coming, and I couldn't get mad at him now. "What all have you and Miranda agreed on?"

"Color scheme, number of guests, time-all that's been taken care of. We just need to take care of my end of everything. Miranda's got hers mostly set."

"So, her and Eliza have been getting shit done and what have you been doing?"

"Waiting for you to come home, man."

I honestly didn't know how to feel about that. "OK, so, who are the groomsmen?"

"Wierzbowski, Spunkmeyer, Hicks, and Frost."

"Did you and Miranda agree on a cake?"

"Not yet. She hired somebody to make samples for us and we're gonna test 'em in a couple weeks." Hudson's stomach rumbled. "Cake for breakfast sounds great, man."

"Well, you're not getting cake for breakfast." I took everything back out of the fridge to make an extra dish for him. "Are you still wanting beer at the reception?"

"I thought about it, and . . . I decided no. Miranda really doesn't want me making an ass of myself, and I feel like I should . . . you know, take away that chance by not having the beer, man. I'm not a champagne guy. I mean, I'll drink it, but I'm not a fan."

"You're not letting her push you around, are you?" I asked, cracking an egg over the pan.

"No. I made that decision myself, man." Hudson watched me work, and fell silent.

I was expecting him to continue listing things we needed to do, but it was like all the thoughts got backed up in his brain. When I finished up, I dumped the excess olive oil from the pan and put it in the sink before taking the completed dish of food to Hudson. "Maybe if you actually ate breakfast at home, you'd be thinking more clearly," I said, sliding the plate and a fork in front of him.

"I kinda panicked before I came here, man," Hudson replied.

"What kind of panicked?"

"Just . . . worried I'm gonna screw this up." Hudson stuffed part of a bagel in his mouth.

"You didn't think you'd ever be doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Getting married."

"Ten years ago? No."

I poured him a cup of coffee. "I don't think any couple goes into a wedding with full confidence. Not because you guys have doubts about your love, but because there's pressure from everyone to have . . . a spectacular day that you both are gonna remember for the rest of your lives." I started digging into my breakfast. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, me and the guys aren't gonna put too much pressure on you. Wierzbowski was almost scared shitless when he got married, but everything turned out OK."

"You passed out right before the minister did the vows, man."

"I know. Everything _after_ that turned out OK."

"Got a point. The reception was fun. I've never seen the big guy so happy."

"And you weren't totally drunk outta your skull. Little tipsy, but not getting-naked-on-the-dance-floor smashed."

"Yeah." Hudson smirked, but it faded. "I haven't even rented a tux yet, man. Jesus, there's so much to do."

"Shut up and eat your breakfast. You'll panic less on a full belly."

A few minutes later, Vasquez came downstairs in her bathrobe, and I felt bad because I never gave her breakfast in bed, but . . . I tried to be positive about it. "Good morning, honey!" I said, raising my coffee mug.

"What happened to you doing 'breakfast in bed,' jackass?" Vasquez snapped, walking into the kitchen. She waited until I set my cup down to slap my cheek.

"I didn't think we were gonna have company," I replied.

"That's not company! That's Hudson!"

"Not even a '_buenos dias_,' man, sheesh," Hudson mumbled.

"He has a perfectly valid reason to be here, and that's his wedding," I said.

"It couldn't wait till we were up and dressed?" Vasquez replied.

"He doesn't have our phone number, yet."

"That's a shitty excuse to come here, knowing full well you could be indecent."

I snorted. "Baby, I am never indecent."

"Drake, I am the only human being in the world that will ever want to see you naked. Please don't ever leave this house with no clothes on."

I kissed her before picking up my coffee again. "I love you, too."

Hudson glanced at us. "You two ain't even married yet and you're already acting like a couple that's been together fifty years."

"You just noticed?"

"No, I've noticed, man."

* * *

We spent most of the morning trying to lay out plans for the wedding. At some point (after I finally got dressed), Hudson and I headed out to look for suits, because it really wasn't something we should put off.

Hudson was coming real close to panicking. We were left alone in a small room, completely surrounded by mirrors. I helped him with his tie and then patted his shoulders, looking him up and down. "You look . . . fancy," I said.

Hudson looked at himself in the mirrors, and then sat down on a cushion in the center of the room. "Doesn't feel right, man."

"Is it too loose or too tight?"

"I don't know."

I sighed. "What's going on, buddy?"

"I don't know how to explain it, man."

I sat next to him, glancing around at our reflections. "Are you repressing memories again?"

"I don't think it counts as repressed when they start showing up at night," Hudson replied, quietly. "Last few nights have been hard. I keep . . . having dreams that we're still in that colony. I dreamt that . . . you didn't make it out of that first battle in the hive. I dreamt that me and Hicks were the only ones left till . . . I got yanked under the floor grating in a room we were trapped in."

"You haven't been seeing this during the day, have you?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. I dunno, it . . . it's . . ."

"Awful and not fun to deal with."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"As long as it doesn't go beyond just nightmares, I think you'll be fine. You have lots of people to talk to if you feel like things are getting out of hand. Is that all that's bugging you?"

"Sorta."

"Still worried you're gonna fuck this up?"

Hudson nodded.

"Well, you've got a good group of friends behind you. We won't let anything go wrong, OK?"

Hudson let out his breath. "Thanks, man." He stood up, looking himself over again. "You think I look good?"

"Sure do. Why? Do you want to try on a different tux?"

"Well, uh . . ."

"Dear God, Hudson, don't keep me out here all day trying on suits."

Hudson flushed red. "OK . . . we'll do one more . . . and then get you outta here before you have a tantrum."

I know most people really take their time with finding the right suit and all that crap. Part of my brain was still in military mode, so we moved through that process quickly. After finding a suit Hudson liked, the tailor made notes and measurements and prepared to have it hemmed. Then it was my turn. I was less fancy than Hudson, but I have to be more fancy than the rest of the groomsmen so, you know, I can be easily identified as the best man.

I also had to go through the process of making my own notes to send to Wierzbowski, Spunkmeyer, Frost, and Hicks, so they knew what specifically to wear. All they had to do was get fitted.

Wierzbowski was probably going to have a longer waiting period to get his suit fixed up because his size is difficult to find, so I called him first once I got home. Hudson left me with the information I needed to access the military satellite to call my unit, and it took awhile for my device to be registered. Once that was done, though, I'd be able to call my old unit whenever I wanted.

I realized it had been a little over two days since I spoke to them, and I wished I had called them sooner. _Whatever. I needed to let my mind and body recover. _I sighed, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up. A moment later, I saw someone reaching to adjust something, and then Hicks sat in front of the screen.

"Hey, Drake!" Hicks said, standing up. "Hold on, let me go get everyone. They've been missing you."

I didn't say anything until Hicks came back with the rest of the squad in tow. I saw three people-two guys and a girl-that I had never seen before. They kinda hung back. The two guys looked like they were replacements for me and Vasquez, and the girl was probably Hudson's replacement.

Hicks let everyone crowd around the camera. "Your place looks nice, Drake," he said.

"Thanks. I got your present, by the way," I replied.

"You didn't drink it all the first day, did you?"

"No. Actually, I didn't open it till this morning." I rubbed my face. "Last couple days were kinda rough."

Hicks nodded. "You and Vasquez are doing OK, though?"

"Physically, yeah. Tomorrow, I'm heading to Pentagon City to take some tests in order to get a weapons permit and shop around for a security job."

"That sounds great, Drake. How's Hudson?"

"Well, that's kinda what I'm calling about. We're getting things set up for his wedding, and I've got the type of suit the groomsmen are gonna wear. You and Wierzbowski and Frost and Spunkmeyer just have to get measured."

"When did he say the wedding is?"

"October twentieth."

"Of course he's rushing things," Wierzbowski muttered. "That's two months from now."

"We know," I sighed. "It's his and his bride's choice, so, nothing we can do there."

"Right," Hicks said. "At least we're getting somewhere."

I got a chance to talk to everyone individually, and Wierzbowski told me that after I left, Hicks secluded himself for the rest of the day. It wasn't as bad as me when Hudson left, but it was still fairly obvious that my leaving left a gaping hole in Hicks's heart.

It did remind me that Wierzbowski's contract would be ending in December. He'd probably be home in time for Christmas, which, in all honesty, would be great. We can all get together, as civvies, and enjoy each other's company.

It seems so simple, and yet it's what I want more than ever.

* * *

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to get dressed up for my psychological test and interview. Part of me was so anxious that I was pretty sure I'd get lots of points taken off for showing up looking too casual.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I tucked my shirt into my shorts, giving a quiet sigh. I hoped I looked good enough. I felt immensely sick thinking about the tests; I wasn't even sure I wanted breakfast.

I ate something anyway, because I know I get into a really foul mood when I'm hungry, and these people need my test results to be accurate.

Vasquez was still asleep, so I left a note on the kitchen counter saying that I'd be back in a few hours. This was the first time I was going out alone as a civilian, and it felt strange. Most people would probably think I was odd for thinking it's strange, but it was a feeling I'm not sure how to describe. My papers might say that my criminal record is clean, but I don't feel clean.

It was early, but a few people were out and walking or jogging. I saw a couple out on their porch, watching their dog in the front yard. I overheard the woman say, "Never seen him before."

"New neighbors across the street," the man replied.

I looked forward, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. I really didn't need my thoughts running rampant right before a psych exam.

On the Metro to Pentagon City, I stared out the window. The train was fairly crowded, and I could feel every thought in my head threatening to burst from their confines. As I got off at Rosslyn to transfer to the Blue Line, I spotted a USCM recruitment poster. The depiction of the APC and the Cheyenne dropship and the Conestoga-class transport ship wrenched my heart as memories of being inside each with my friends and teammates flooded the forefront of my mind.

I waited until I was seated in the train to allow a tear to roll down my face. I quickly wiped it away with my wrist at the next stop, hoping no one standing too close to my window saw it.

When I got off the train, I had to walk down a few blocks before arriving at the police and security building Ranelli instructed me to go to. Once inside, I was directed to the rooms Ranelli was using. For the written exam, I was going to be alone with the booklet and answer sheet. As soon as I sat down, Ranelli placed a radio on one of the desks. "Is there anything you'd like to help you relax?" he asked.

"Anything but dead silence," I said. "Fans, music, I don't care. Just no pure silence."

Ranelli nodded before turning on the radio, and a window fan. "Take your time with the test. If you need to pause, go ahead. I've got water bottles under the radio. I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Despite the quiet background noise, I could still hear my heart pounding. You'd think true-or-false questions would be easy to answer, but for a psych test, that's not the case. Some questions were admittedly easy to answer, while others weren't.

I'm not sure how long I sat staring at a question that went a little like this: "Your family approves of your lifework." I assume they're talking about my biological family and not the people I've come to call my family. How the fuck should I know if they approve of what I'm doing, and why should I care? I don't. I cut myself off from them when I went to prison.

You know what? I doubt they'd approve of what I'm doing. I marked the statement false.

I set my pencil down, rubbing my face and giving a frustrated groan. Then I picked the pencil back up and moved on.

There were a lot of questions about self-worth and how I felt about myself. Oh, joy. I don't want to think about my self-worth. However, I also noticed that there were questions that looked similar, but had a word changed to reflect whether it was asking about the past or the present.

It was easy for me to say that I've felt worthless in the past. It was easy for me to say that I've thought about hurting myself in the past. All that was easy. How I feel _now_, in the present, was significantly harder.

I think you might be surprised to know that I stated I don't feel worthless now. This is a true-false test, though, so I really can't go into detail about how technically, I do feel worthless, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was three or four years ago.

Unless Ranelli is the only person looking at this when I'm done, I don't know what anyone else here is going to say when they look at my answers. I'm being honest, here, even though I can't stand exposing myself to strangers. It feels like walking into a party in nothing but my underpants. It's embarrassing, and all it's doing is opening up old wounds I thought I healed a long time ago.

I knew damn well that there were answers that would get points taken off. Ranelli actually walked into the room to find me covering my face and trying not to cry out of fear of failure. He knows being a failure is my biggest fear. He didn't say a word, but gave me a cold water bottle so I could have a drink and attempt to re-focus.

Overall, it took me well over an hour to finish the written part of the test. Afterward, I handed it to Ranelli, and we went to another room to do the interview. I felt like I had just been beaten up, and I said, "I don't want to go through that ever again."

"If you pass, you won't have to go through it ever again," Ranelli replied.

"I doubt I'm gonna pass. I mean, I was . . . I was close to flipping out over a fucking question on a piece of paper. No one's gonna want me touching a gun if they know about-"

"No one is going to know about that. I was the only one watching you, and I'm not obliged to tell anyone you had a negative reaction to any of the questions. I've read the test. I knew there were going to be a myriad of questions that would be highly upsetting to you. That's why I made all the preparations to have you alone. No one else has to know about you stressing out over any of the questions."

I took a breath. "If you say so."

With that taken care of, Ranelli pulled out the questions to the interview. "You can go into detail with your answers here. It's not true-or-false, or yes-or-no."

I nodded, releasing my breath.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Why do you want this?"

"Is that a question on the sheet?"

"Yes."

_Dammit._ I covered my face. "I . . . W-Well, it's what we talked about before we left. A-A job in any security field would . . . give me similar comradery to the Marines. I mean, it wouldn't be exactly the same . . . but it'd be somewhat close, and that's . . . what I want. I'm not gonna get that from a retail job or college or anything else."

At this point, I felt like I was punching myself in the stomach. There were several questions like that, and although the free-response aspect of it made it easier to answer, it didn't take away from the fact that I felt like they were tearing into my mind with sharp claws.

I was honest about my emotions and my mood and pretty much everything on that interview sheet. By the time I finished, I felt like my brain was going to leak out every orifice on my head.

"Drake."

I looked over at Ranelli. "What?"

He handed me a sheet on a clipboard. "You have to sign so your results can be looked at."

I took it this meant I was done for the day and I was going to fail. I looked at the sheet, and gave a heavy sigh while signing.

"I'll try to let you know as soon as possible regarding your written test. I have the utmost confidence you'll pass; I've seen your improvement over the last four years. Don't worry."

I handed the clipboard back. "Now what?"

"Your answers will be examined. If you pass, your next step will be a physical, and I believe a shooting test as well. I'm not sure. That will be through district police."

Although I felt better that the test was over, I still felt like I was wasting my time. _This was a bad idea. I'll never pass, no matter how much I've improved. Probably means I'll never get a job, ever._

As I walked back to the Metro, I thought about everything that had been asked of me. I know the purpose of the test is to see if I'm mentally fit to carry a weapon in a civilian security job; I should expect painfully personal questions, and I did, but that didn't prepare me for what I felt while answering them. Even though no one around me knew what just happened, I still felt exposed. I felt drained, physically and mentally.

For the first time in my life, I thought, _I just want to go home._

* * *

_Question: How do you think Drake's feelings about his wedding will differ from Hudson's?_

_Author's Note: I completely forgot to respond in regards to a comment about another Hicks story where he "introduces" Ripley to his nervous habits. Unfortunately, it's not a project I have a lot of motivation to work on at the moment, but it doesn't mean it's off the table. It might come a little later when I don't have a bunch of other ideas I'd like to work on first._


	14. Chapter 14

I haven't written anything in a couple of days because almost as soon as I got home from my tests, I was really lethargic. It was more or less a combination of my mental exhaustion and my body trying to recover from the shock of transitioning from a Marine to a civilian. In other words, I was sick. Not really, really sick, just my body trying to fight off something that got through my somewhat weak immune system.

At first, I wasn't sure if I was tired because I was coming down with something, or depression had struck while I was coming home. Ranelli's told me how depression frequently appears alongside PTSD, and I've gone through periods of it before. Sometimes it comes real slowly, and other times it hits like a freight train.

I entered the house to find Vasquez out in the backyard. She was leaning against the metal fence and staring at the tree-lined parkway across the river. If I didn't feel so tired, I would've gone out to talk to her, but, I didn't.

A part of me did want to talk to someone, though, so I grabbed the phone and called Hudson.

When he finally picked up, he said, "What's up, Drake?"

"Hey, I-"

"Oh, Miranda and I are talking about where we're gonna have our reception, and we gotta make reservations soon. Really soon, man. Whaddaya think? It's gonna be October, and really cold, so, I was thinking we rent out a hall at that hotel we usually stay at when we visit the city. You know the one I'm talking about."

"Didn't General Paulson commit suicide in a hall at a hotel in Paris?"

"Yeah, but that was Paris-"

"I don't think it'll be good for Hicks."

Hudson sighed. "It'd be cheaper than some of the other banquet halls we've looked at, man."

"Look, I didn't call you to talk about the wedding. I called you to-"

"I gotta get some of this shit done, man! I can't leave it all to Miranda! Her and her family are gonna start accusing me of not pulling my weight around, man."

My heart became heavy. "I just wanted to talk to my best friend." I hung up, and decided the best thing to do was find a small room in the house to seclude myself in, much like I did on bases. Instinctively, I picked the bathroom.

As I sat, I half-expected Wierzbowski to come when he heard me crying, but no one came because . . . well, he's roughly three thousand miles away. That just made me hurt worse.

I felt alone. The inside of my chest hurt, and I felt my throat becoming more raw as I sucked in air from sobbing.

It actually didn't take long for Vasquez to notice I had come home, and she was concerned why I didn't greet her. Upon finding me in the bathroom, she grabbed the tissues before sitting across from me, and pulling out a tissue to dry my face. "Does this have to do with your exam?"

I shook my head. "I just . . . feel . . . tired. I feel . . . alone. Tired, alone, my head hurts. I miss everybody. I feel like screaming. Hudson doesn't want to talk to me anymore; all he cares about is his fucking wedding, and if I'm not there to talk about the wedding, he wants nothing to do with me."

"Both him and Miranda are like that," Vasquez replied. "She actually called me earlier because she wanted to know if I'd like to be one of the bridesmaids. I said 'no.' I . . . would not be able to be around her friends and relatives. I even said, 'I'd rather stay as part of Hudson's party.' She kinda started whining about how she needs one more bridesmaid because someone backed out for some reason, and I . . . I hung up."

"I know a wedding's a big deal, but I really hope they haven't dedicated a hundred percent of their lives into this."

"Well, they're the idiots who decided having it three months after their engagement was a good idea." Vasquez reached over to feel my forehead. "You're warm."

"I'm around you."

"Oh, stop. No, your eyes look a little glassy." She thought for a moment. "I think you should go lie down."

"And what're you gonna do?"

"Give you some of Hicks's tea."

* * *

I continued to feel more tired throughout the rest of the day. It was pretty much the only thing I could feel, and the only thing I could think about. I spent most of the day lying on the couch, half-asleep.

With nothing else to do, Vasquez sat on the floor in front of me for what felt like several hours, stroking my hair and occasionally pausing to feel my forehead. The she rested her head next to mine. It's extremely rare to see her this tender and loving, and she's a good example of someone who'll only be affectionate around the one person she cares about more than anything else.

We didn't talk at all for the few hours we sat there. Despite my outward appearance of being tired, I really appreciated just being able to keep each other company, and I showed that by nuzzling her forehead.

That blissful moment was interrupted by the phone ringing. Vasquez patted my head as she got up to answer it. She sighed as she picked up. "Hello?" After getting a response, she whispered to me, "It's Hudson."

Apparently, Hudson wanted to come over and apologize for how he treated me earlier, but Vasquez decided to stand up for me. "If you're just doing this to keep pestering him about your wedding, I'm kicking your ass right out the door."

"This isn't about the wedding, man," Hudson replied. "Please? Let me talk to him."

Vasquez sighed, looking at me. "Fine." She hung up, and walked back over to me. "Do you even want to talk to anyone?"

"I dunno," I muttered. "If he genuinely wants to apologize, I'll give him another chance."

Vasquez nodded.

"But feel free to beat on his ass if he immediately reverts to talking about the wedding."

"Absolutely." She kissed my cheek. "I love you."

I managed to grin. "I love you, too, honey."

A good twenty minutes had passed when Hudson knocked on the door. He flinched when Vasquez opened it to glare at him, and I noticed he looked worn out.

"I know you guys're upset, but . . . can I talk to Drake alone?" Hudson asked.

Vasquez thought for a moment, and stepped aside to let him in. "Alright. He's sick, by the way, so don't start pushing his buttons."

"I promise I won't, man." Hudson walked in, glancing at Vasquez before heading into the living room. He sat near me and waited until it was just the two of us. Sighing, he rubbed his face. "Drake, I'm really sorry about earlier."

I adjusted the way I was sitting so I could make eye contact with him. "You're not bullshitting me, are you?"

"No, man. I shouldn't have said that, and I shouldn't have blew you off. Been feeling bad about it all day and now I got you sick and now I just feel worse and-"

"You didn't get me sick, buddy. I've been tired ever since I came home from my psych tests. That's . . . pretty much what I wanted to talk about. The test was one embarrassing personal question after another."

"Isn't that kinda the point?"

"I'm well aware of that. I just . . . It made me feel really exposed and I think one of the reasons I'm so exhausted is because . . . it-it's taking so much energy to just put every wall back up, make sure no one gets the hint there's something wrong with me."

Hudson nodded a little. "I get it."

"Mixed with the fact that I'm still not sure where I am, and I miss everybody, and . . . I feel very alone despite having a lot of people to turn to . . . I don't know what I want right now, other than somebody listening and helping me put my fucking thoughts together."

Another nod. "I think I need that, too, and . . . I'm sorry it didn't come across that way earlier. I shouldn't have brought up the idea of pushing the wedding back a few months in front of Miranda's mom and sister. I know they were kinda joking about me being lazy, and . . . her sister said something about how I used to be the kind of person who's afraid of commitment and maybe that was why I suggested pushing the day back. God, I wanted to snap, but I couldn't. Afterward, when they left, I kinda did snap. I asked Miranda, you know, why she told her family about my past, even when I said not to. It was actually a long time ago that she told them, and she never told me about it. It came up in a conversation, I dunno." Hudson gave a heavy sigh. "That was our first big fight. That's the other reason I wanted to come here. I just need to get away and think about something else."

"I guess it sounds like I should've listened to you as well," I said.

"It's fine, now. We're both . . . We were both not feeling good and it didn't help."

"We made a mistake, that's all. Little miscommunication. Not the end of the world."

"What am I supposed to do about Miranda, though?"

I shrugged. "Just stay and here and relax for however long you need to. It sounds like you need to be around people who aren't gonna kick up shit from your past for awhile. Take some time, and when you feel like you can talk to your fiancée, go talk to her. You can stay for dinner for all I care."

"I can't do that to you guys, man."

"No, please, it'd be our pleasure."

So maybe the rest of the day wasn't that bad because we had Hudson with us. He seemed less tense, and I tried not to look so lethargic. That was, honestly, difficult, because as I said before, I could feel myself gradually getting weaker as the hours ticked by.

Hudson decided to go home sometime around nine. He claimed he felt like he could talk to Miranda about what happened, and both me and Vasquez hoped that was true. Almost as soon as he left, though, the house fell silent. I could hear the blood pounding in my aching head, and that sealed the deal for me wanting to just go to bed.

* * *

The next morning was no better. The most I could do was slowly make my way downstairs to lay on the couch. Even though Vasquez told me to stay in bed, I argued that I wanted to be closer to her, and she said nothing to that.

Basically, the whole day was nothing but lots of tea and weird fever dreams. Poor Vasquez stayed up with me that night, waiting for a sign that my fever would break. It was over three agonizing hours of me moaning, "It's hot . . . Why is it so hot?"

Once it broke, I slept like a baby. I felt a lot better this morning, and actually decided to try and help Hudson with the wedding. The good news is that he and Miranda made up last night, and she promised to be more firm in standing up for him if he promised not to get mad if someone brings up his past.

Oh, believe me when I say that is the most difficult thing you can ever do.

Regardless, the last two days felt like wasted time. I've been a civilian for not even a week, and already feel like I'm failing, like I'm wasting my second chance. Around two in the afternoon, I called my unit, hoping to talk to Hicks or Wierzbowski and get some advice or motivation or something. However, neither of them picked up, and neither did anyone I actually knew; it was the girl who replaced Hudson.

She had very short, dark hair and a pale complexion. It took me no time at all to see she was on the shy side; she didn't look like she was ready to talk to anyone, but she did offer a subtle wave.

I returned it, and tried to look as unintimidating as possible (which is hard, because a lot of people have told me I'm naturally intimidating). "Hey. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

She shook her head. "Is someone expecting a call from you?"

"Uh, no. My name's Drake. I used to be in this unit." It felt weird saying "used to."

"Drake. You're the guy everyone talks about. Wierzbowski and Hicks, especially."

"Yeah. I . . . C-Could you get one of them for me? If . . ." I paused, still studying her face. I had a feeling she was still getting used to the unit. She had to be fresh from training, as she looked no older than her early twenties. _Maybe I should talk to her a little more. _"What's your name?"

"Who, me?"

"Well, I'm not exactly talking to my houseplant, am I?"

The girl smiled a bit. "Marda. I'm the new combat technician. You were a . . . smartgunner, right?"

I nodded. "Me and my girlfriend. We were both smartgunners. We're living together and hoping to get married soon."

"That's sweet. Wierzbowski's told me a lot about you."

"Wierzbowski's a really nice guy, ain't he?"

Marda's smile got wider. "He's the definition of 'gentle giant.' He's made . . . being sent here really easy." She stopped. "Wait, you wanted me to get him, didn't you?"

"I did," I said. "Nice meeting you."

She looked like she wanted to reply, but couldn't find the right words. Instead, she nodded, and stood up to go find Wierzbowski.

As I waited, I looked out the window next to the computer desk. The weather was nice, the street was quiet. This felt perfect. I felt somewhat content, happy even.

Wierzbowski's voice interrupted my thoughts. "What's going on, Drake?"

"Um . . . not much, honestly. I've been sick the last couple days. Started feeling better this morning, but . . . I dunno."

"That explains why you haven't called lately. Glad you're feeling better. How's Vasquez?"

"So far, so good. She's kinda restless, though. I'm still waiting to hear about my results from the psych test, and she hasn't gone job-hunting yet."

"You both need to do something soon. You can't live on your savings forever."

"I know. We're doing the best we can." I glanced out the window again. "Have you been updated about Hudson's wedding?"

"I'm going to get fitted for my suit in a few days. Spunkmeyer got fitted yesterday."

"Good. How is everyone, by the way?"

"Missing you. That's pretty much it. Nothing's changed much, aside from getting new people. Pretty sure we might be moving in a few days. It's the North America rotation, so, hopefully, they'll send us someplace near you so we can see each other more often."

"You're getting out in December."

"Oh, that's right." Wierzbowski smirked. "Almost forgot."

"You and Eliza are staying in the area, right?"

"I don't see us moving. Plus, I value you and Hudson too much to consider it."

"I honestly feel bad that we're gonna be leaving Hicks and Spunkmeyer all alone."

"Spunkmeyer's got a few years. I think he and Ferro are leaving the same time, and they plan on going up to New York."

"Good for them."

"Agreed. Look, I hate to cut the conversation short, but, it's getting close to lights-out over here, and I have to get going. Good to hear everything's OK, so far. I'll let you know when everyone else is fitted. Tell Vasquez and Hudson and his lovely bride I said 'hello.'"

"Sure thing. See you later." I cut the transmission, and stood up to go find Vasquez. She was out in the backyard, cleaning the pool deck. "Hey, sweetie!"

"What?" she asked.

"Wierzbowski says 'hello.'" I closed the glass doors behind me. The pool is directly connected to the patio, allowing me to easily walk over to Vasquez and crouch next to where the deck met the patio. "Whatcha doing?"

"Cleaning this so we can use it," Vasquez replied, not looking up at me.

"Oh, boy. We'll have to go get swimsuits, then."

"We still have the Marine-issued ones. We'll save a lot of money by using them instead of getting new ones."

"Mine sticks to my-"

"We'll use them until we can afford to buy new ones."

"But, honey-"

"Deal with it, Drake."

"OK. I'd rather swim naked, though."

"Don't even think about it."

I spent the rest of the day helping Vasquez clean the pool, and went out to buy a couple bags of chlorine to pour in the water. We had to let the chemicals sit for a few hours, so we didn't actually go in until sunset, which was fine by me.

Vasquez had gone in the pool slowly, and gave me a look when she saw me pause. "Drake, don't jump. Don't you dare jump in the-"

She was stopped by me cannonballing into the pool, sending water all over her. Spitting out water, she gave me an even dirtier look. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

I grinned at Vasquez before going next to her, putting my arm around her. "No." I kissed her forehead. "We did a good job today, sweetie."

Vasquez rolled her eyes. "I did more than half the work, Drake."

"But I helped. Even though I still felt sick."

"I did all the cleaning. You just did the chlorine."

"The chlorine kills the fucking bacteria. Kind of important." I kissed her again. "I love you."

She didn't look at me.

I gently shook her. "Where's my 'I love you?'"

"You don't need one."

"Yes, I do. Just like you need one, every single day."

Instead of saying "I love you," Vasquez dunked my head underwater, holding me down for two seconds before letting me back up.

I gasped for breath. "Don't do that! You know that can set off my fucking PTSD!"

"That's why I held you for two seconds instead of three."

* * *

_Question: How do you think Drake's method of planning his wedding will go differently than Hudson's?_


	15. Chapter 15

I could hear the phone ringing downstairs when I woke up this morning. Sighing, I tried to ignore it, and rolled over in bed to put my arm over Vasquez. I was about to sniff her hair when she shouted, "Oh my God, Drake, get the fucking phone!"

"Why can't you get the phone?" I asked.

"Because I want to beat the shit outta whoever's calling us at this hour!"

"OK." I got out of bed, not even bothering to put on some pants before heading downstairs. I had a pretty good idea of who was calling at six in the morning, at this point, but it's not like I'm going to ignore him. Sighing, I picked up, saying, "Hello, Hudson."

"Hey, man. Look, I know it's early, but Miranda's planning on doing the flowers today, and she told me to go taste-test cakes, but she wants somebody to go with me for some reason."

I snorted. "Probably because you'll eat the whole fucking thing if no one stops you."

Hudson laughed. "Probably, man."

"I'll go with you, if you really want. Just let me know when and where."

Hudson and Miranda had commissioned a good-sized bakery to do their wedding cake, and I really didn't understand all the fancy stuff and . . . the fancy stuff. The whole time, I kept thinking, _Vasquez and I won't be going over the top like this._

There were four different cakes, with sample pieces already out for us. After talking with the bakers for a little bit, Hudson grabbed some forks and walked over to me. "We narrowed our picks down to white vanilla with white chocolate frosting, chocolate with peanut butter buttercream frosting, dark chocolate with chocolate frosting and raspberry filling, and vanilla with walnut pieces and peanut butter frosting."

"So we just . . . dig in and you tell them which one you want at the wedding?"

"Pretty much." Hudson sat at the counter, taking one of the plates, and putting a giant forkful of cake into his mouth.

I watched him for a second or two before saying, "You're supposed to just sample it, not eat the whole thing."

Hudson leaned in to whisper to me. "They take it as a big compliment if you eat the whole thing."

"You're gonna get sick. Besides, wasn't I brought along to keep you in line? Come on, your brain is bigger than your stomach."

"I don't think it is, man."

"Hudson, the human brain weighs roughly three pounds. Your stomach can only hold two-and-a-half pounds of food. Therefore, your brain is bigger."

"Oh, how do you know that?"

"I passed my GED with a 'B.' I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Hudson actually took a moment to think, and then pushed his plate away after only taking one bite. "Fine."

I patted his head. "Good boy."

It didn't stop him from taking fairly large samples of each slice of cake. The bakers were watching us the whole time, and that just made me uncomfortable. I really don't like people watching me eat, and the fact that these people were watching us closely made me kinda want to be critical of their work. I hoped they stuck to asking Hudson's opinion rather than mine.

Then again, Hudson is really indecisive when it comes to things like this. He'd have all the cakes at his wedding if he could.

"Go with the vanilla walnut one," I said.

"You sure, man?"

"Yes. Tell them we're going with that one, and let's get out of here."

"You're absolutely sure-"

"Yes."

"OK."

* * *

There were a few more things we had to look at for the reception before I was allowed to go home. When I did go home, I made myself a sandwich and grabbed one of the jars of Hicks's iced tea from the fridge before putting on my swim trunks and heading into the pool. That's when I noticed Vasquez running a measuring tape along the side fence. "Whatcha doing, honey?" I asked.

"I want this fence replaced," she said. "I don't mind the bars for the back, but I want something that actually covers us on this side."

If you're facing the house from the street, you'll notice there's about ten feet of space between our place and our neighbors to the left. The garage offers some cover from the neighbors on our right, and behind the garage is a big tree that shades much of the backyard. I guess Vasquez is afraid of our neighbors getting nosy and peering through the fence to watch us or try to talk to us.

"You do realize that replacing this entire side of fencing will be expensive, right?" I said.

"I don't care."

"Did . . . something happen today?"

"No, but I don't want anything to happen. I don't want to talk to any one of these people. I don't want them watching anything we're doing. None of it. I mean, you're right there in the pool for crying out loud! We don't need people seeing us in our bathing suits."

"Invite Hudson over with his swimsuit. The minute the neighbors see him with no clothes on, they'll never look in our yard again. Besides, they can see us from any of their windows."

"That's why I want to get another tree!"

"Alright, alright, let's pause, sweetheart, and start thinking this through; neither of us have jobs, OK? We only have so much from our savings in the military. We can't blow it all in the first month we're out. I know, this is an important project. I agree we need more privacy on this side of the house, but let's get some income, that way we don't plunge ourselves into debt. You still wanna get married, right?"

Vasquez tossed the measuring tape aside, sighing. "Yes."

"Let's focus on one thing at a time."

"Then why the fuck don't you have a job yet?"

"Sweetheart, I'm still waiting for my test results. Then, I gotta go get a physical. Then, I need to plan a shooting test. All that might take some time, but we're working toward something, alright? How come you haven't found something yet?"

No response.

"Are you scared? It's OK to tell me you're scared, honey."

Picking up the tape, Vasquez walked over to the pool, and half-stuck her face in the bars to touch my nose with hers. "Fine. I'm scared. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to act around civilians. I just . . . don't know how I will ever hold a normal job."

I kissed her. "I think you can do it. I don't think you'll be stuck in a menial job forever."

"That's the problem, Drake, I don't know what to do-"

"Remember what Hudson said about opening his own bar? I'm sure he'd love to have you as security."

"Why the fuck would I ever want to work for Hudson?"

"He knows you. You'd work so much better under him than you would under someone you didn't know."

Vasquez sighed. "That's probably years away, Drake."

"It's still an idea, and something to work toward. It probably requires the same license I'm working on right now. Think about it; Hudson will never have problems with unruly customers when you're there. Anyone who tries to start shit with you will get their teeth knocked to the back of their skull." I kissed her again. "See? I have good ideas."

"That doesn't help for right now."

"You're gonna have to deal with what you get, sweetie. Just don't get in trouble, and every day, when you come home, you can bitch to me about how stupid your co-workers are." I kissed her a third time. "I love you lots, and I believe you can do this."

Vasquez didn't offer a response.

"Where's my kiss?" I whispered. "You haven't kissed me all day, sweetheart."

She kissed me full on the lips through the bars of the pool fence, but the space was kinda narrow and we couldn't get as passionate as we wanted to be.

"You're all sweaty," I whispered. "Why don't you get changed and join me? The water's perfect."

"Or, how about we do this inside?"

"OK."

* * *

All the blinds in the bedroom had been shut, and the window fan was turned up. I was on my back, with a grin on my face as I panted. "Alright, how was that?"

"You don't need to ask that every single time," Vasquez replied, rubbing her face. She looked up at the ceiling. "I'm going to get dressed, and go find some store or restaurant to work at. I'll be back before four."

"Really? Right now?"

"I'm not putting this off. I want my fucking fence and tree."

I laughed. "That's my girl!" I kissed her before getting off the bed and quickly getting dressed. "I'll make dinner, then, if Hudson doesn't bother me with more wedding duties. Anything special you want?"

"No. Do whatever you want-just don't blow up the kitchen."

"Don't worry about me," I said. "Good luck."

When I had the house to myself, I wasn't really sure what to do with myself. It was too early to make dinner, but it was past noon, so it was OK to drink.

I still had some iced tea left over from my lunch, so I spiked it with some whiskey. I probably should've done some reading on what's good to spike iced tea with, but, I didn't, so . . . oh, well. I considered today a good day, so I decided to have some fun.

As you may've suspected, the fun didn't last long. Not because Hudson called with more wedding hoohah, but because my brain was catching up to me.

I heard sirens on another block. I couldn't tell if it was police or ambulance, but that didn't stop a wave of nausea from coming over me. The events of the last nine years of my life started replaying, starting with that moment. I heard the gunshot that killed the guy trying to mug me. I heard the snaps and crunches of the car running over his two goons. I was running away. I had to. I was never going to find out who I was if I didn't leave . . .

_Drake, snap out of it!_ I grunted as I tried to force myself out of my memories. Everything was blurry, and it felt like my mind was trying to pull me back into the flashback. Feeling faint, I collapsed on the kitchen floor, and I covered my face, letting myself be dragged back into my head.

Everything between being sent to prison and the mission to LV-400 breezed by. Every single second I was about the lab next to Gateway Station played out. Every. Agonizing. Second. The sensation of the silver flowers choking me came at full force.

The next thing I knew, Vasquez was kneeling by me, helping me sit up. I sobbed, holding her tightly. "Help me," I whispered.

"Shh . . ." Vasquez rested her head on my shoulder, stroking the hair on the back of my head. "You're OK," she whispered back. "You're OK."

We sat there in the kitchen for some time, waiting for me to fully emerge from my flashback. Vasquez slowly pulled away from me when my breathing began to slow and even out, and carefully helped me stand.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing I said.

"For what? You have nothing to be sorry for," Vasquez replied. "Go take a shower. I'll take care of dinner."

I nodded. "Did you . . . have any luck with a job?"

"Wrote out two applications. One for a grocery store, and the other for a small restaurant in the mall next to the Metro stop at the end of this road."

I tried to smile, but couldn't bring myself to do so. Not because I wasn't proud, but because I was mentally and physically exhausted. "That's good. It's a step in the right direction."

Nodding, Vasquez patted my arm. "Go shower. I have no fucking clue what I'm going to make, but it'll be done when you're out of the bathroom."

* * *

As September started, we had a month-and-a-half till Hudson and Miranda's wedding. I had finally gotten my test results, and I officially passed both the written and spoken interview. The next step was my physical, and (even though Vasquez wasn't fond of this idea), I decided to select Miranda as our general practitioner, mainly because we know her, and I trust her.

I had to bring in a few documents for her before my physical for the firearms test was conducted. Overall, I passed the physical with flying colors, but I wasn't going to leave her office without her saying something about her and Hudson's special day.

"Mark, do you think . . . Jenette would like to come to my bridal shower this weekend?" Miranda asked.

"Um . . . no. She would not," I replied.

Looking at the floor, Miranda nodded. "OK. Is there a reason she's been . . . not enthusiastic about all this?"

"It's not her wedding. She really doesn't have a reason to be excited."

"I did offer for her to become a bridesmaid."

"And she doesn't want to deal with your friends and relatives. Look, I've got her close to trusting you, but she's drawing a line at your family."

"They're not bad people, Mark."

"You don't understand. She . . . It's just going to take her awhile to be able to interact with civilians. Can you respect that?"

"Yeah. I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's OK. You have fun with your bridal shower. I'm stuck planning Hudson's bachelor party."

"Are you gonna surprise him?"

"Probably not. I might just have it at my place and just invite the rest of the groomsmen over. That's it. I don't want to go anywhere."

I don't know if it's expected of me to have an obnoxious and crazy bachelor party for Hudson, but, frankly, I don't care.

The good news is that we were starting to make our own income when Vasquez was hired at one of the restaurants she applied to. She worked from noon to around nine at night, every day except Sunday, leaving me alone for dinner most of the week. I was still waiting to hear if my physical was accepted in order for me to continue the steps to get my firearms license.

Hicks was kind enough to wire us some money, even though I told him it wasn't necessary. However, when I looked at our savings, plus what Hicks gave us, I felt like Hicks had something else in mind. After all, I did say that Vasquez and I were waiting until Hudson and Miranda's wedding was over before we started discussing our own marriage, and I still don't have a ring.

Without saying it directly, I think Hicks was telling me to go get that ring.

* * *

I took advantage of Vasquez not being around in the afternoon to browse shops for engagement rings. She's not all that picky, so it was mostly me who was worried about how the ring would look. After around a week of looking, I picked something out, and hid the little velvet box in a spot where she wouldn't look-my nightstand, where all my journals are.

So far, Vasquez hasn't had any problems with her co-workers at the restaurant. In fact, according to Miranda, who knows one of the chefs, they actually like her because she's organized and no-nonsense. It's the customers that have given Vasquez a hard time. You know, the screaming kids, the extremely picky people who'll lose their shit if their order is messed up just a little bit, and the creepy guy who asked if Vasquez is "available" (I swear, if I was there, I would've flung him out the window and beat the crap out of him).

I closed up the pool in the middle of September when I noticed the leaves starting to change. Across the river, the trees lining the parkway were beginning to turn as well. The temperature dropped a little, and I had to go out and buy fall and winter clothing. No more doing breakfast shirtless for a few months.

The unit had been moved to southern Virginia, which made calling them easier because we were all in the same timezone now. I told the groomsmen the plan for Hudson's bachelor party, and there were no disagreements about having it be small and . . . not wild. The rest of the unit had gotten their invitations, and, yes, Hicks was making lots of raspberry iced tea for the reception.

Overall, it looked like things were getting done for the wedding. Hudson's suit was ready, my suit was ready, all the groomsmen had their outfits. Miranda's wedding gown was ready (but, as per tradition, Hudson hasn't seen it yet). Menus were written. A cake was settled on. The reception was going to be held at a really fancy restaurant. And so on and so forth.

A part of me still feels like I'm going to mess up and have all this taken away from me. As much as I appreciate our friends helping us as we get on our feet, I have moments where I feel like I need to struggle through this on my own, like I still don't deserve help.

There were times where I enjoyed being alone, and there were times where I didn't. When I felt lonely, I would go to Hudson's apartment, especially when I felt like I just couldn't shake this depressive fog. At least with things almost done for the wedding, Hudson was more helpful than he'd ever been. It was almost like he was trying to make up for over a month of putting our friendship on the backburner. Regardless, this was a time where I couldn't let the past get in the way. All that mattered was someone putting in the effort to help.

* * *

Hicks came several hours early to help with getting stuff ready for Hudson's bachelor party. There were three days left until the wedding and by that time, my fog of depression had managed to lift, and I was more focused on the party.

The fridge was now stocked with iced tea, beer, non-alcoholic apple cider, cold cuts, and anything else you can think of for a party.

"Too bad it's already too cold to go out and grill," Hicks said, taking packages of raw meat out of his shopping bags.

"I don't even have a grill," I replied. "I'll get one in the spring."

"You know, I would've been more than happy to invite you all to my place for Hudson's bachelor party."

"How about I take you up on that offer for my bachelor party down the road?" I said, glancing out the back doors. Vasquez was raking the leaves, unable to hear us. "I got your hint from the money you sent me last month."

"What hint?"

"'What hint?' You didn't send me that to use on an engagement ring for Vasquez?"

"Oh, yeah . . . I did send you that to buy an engagement ring."

"How the fuck would you forget that?"

"Hear me out, Drake," Hicks started, taking a large bowl out of one of the cupboards, "Last couple of weeks have been . . . hectic. I'm exhausted."

"Is it about the wedding?"

"Not entirely." He gestured for me to turn around.

"Why do I have to turn around? This is my house, you know."

"I'm doing my fried chicken. Don't need you figuring out my recipe. Anyway, I . . . A few days ago, Ellen managed to secure an apartment. Took Newt with her and everything. We call, we talk-"

"Did you ever talk to her about your past and your depression?"

"I did, and it went . . . OK."

"She didn't think it was too much to handle, did she?"

"No. She's not . . . She's not Carlisle. Just . . . with . . . everything from Hudson leaving and you and Vasquez leaving to Hudson's wedding . . . I really haven't been putting the effort I should be putting into this relationship, and I feel bad about it."

"Has she gotten to see someone regarding her trauma from her first encounter with an alien?"

"Her and Newt both see Ranelli."

"Good. I wouldn't recommend anybody else. So, that's it? You feel like you're not putting a lot of effort into your relationship?"

Hicks nodded.

"Well, things should settle down after Hudson's wedding. Maybe you two should get together over Thanksgiving or Christmas and talk."

After putting his ingredients back, Hicks let me turn back around. In the bowl was a yellow-tannish liquid mixture. "Take a sniff, Drake."

His batter had a deliciously salty scent, the kind that immediately makes you think of home cooking. "Really good, Hicks."

"Thanks. Alright, step out of the kitchen for a few minutes. I'm gonna make up my frying oil and start the burgers."

It didn't take very long for the whole house to smell like frying chicken. Once the rest of our guests arrived, I heard Hudson out in the driveway saying, "Aw, I smell food, man!"

"We don't have to restrain you, do we?" Wierzbowski asked.

I opened the door once I saw them on the front porch. "Come on in, guys! Take your shoes off, hang up your coats, get comfy."

"Sweet place, Drake," Spunkmeyer said.

"Yeah, don't trash it." I patted his shoulder, then jogged over to the back doors, throwing them open. "Everyone's here, honey."

Vasquez finished tying a bag of leaves before dragging it to a trash can. "Am I even supposed to be here? I'm not part of the groomsmen."

"You live here. Do you . . . not want to join the party? Trust me, it's OK if you don't."

"If you promise it's not going to get out of hand, I'll stay."

"Come on, at least you know everyone." I kissed her forehead. "And I know you've been missing them. Besides, where're you gonna go? It's getting close to dark and I don't want you wandering the city alone-"

"I'd be fine."

"No. Please? It'd worry the crap out of me, and I don't need to be worried right now, OK?"

"Fine."

"And, yes, I promise things will be under control. Hicks is here; no one's gonna get too crazy with Hicks around." I kissed Vasquez again, and brought her inside.

Spunkmeyer was dumping bags of chips and popcorn into giant bowls on the counter, before bringing them out to the kitchen table. A box of pizza was already open, and Hicks was placing fried chicken and burgers onto big plates, leaving them on the counter for anyone who wanted it.

"There's drinks in the fridge for anyone who wants it," I said.

"Grab me something, would you?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"No, really, how old are you?"

"I just said, twenty-four. Jesus."

"I'm just messing with you." I tossed him a can.

"I gotta ask," Frost said, opening containers of cut fruit, "is the whole plan of the evening letting Hudson eat as much as he wants?"

"No. I . . . didn't want to go out, so I figured we can just stay in and talk. I haven't physically seen some of you guys in awhile," I replied. "Also, no one cooks like Hicks does."

"You're not complaining, are you?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No," Frost replied. "Just thought the bachelor party was supposed to be a little bit . . . more."

"Well, when Drake is in charge, you get this; intimate gatherings, with lots of _hugs_." Spunkmeyer put down his beer can to hug me.

"There is no way you've already had too much to drink, buddy," I said.

"I'm just messing with you."

It didn't take me very long to see that I really should've planned the evening out a little better, but everyone seemed happy where they were. Hicks and Vasquez were talking. Wierzbowski, Frost, and Spunkmeyer were talking. And, of course, Hudson was sampling everything left out on the counter.

You'd think being in my own house would help me feel more comfortable, but that sure as hell didn't happen. I felt lost. I felt like this wasn't real. I never served out my contract. I'm going to wake up from this dream back on a base somewhere . . .

I ran upstairs, feeling sick with the all too familiar fear of failure.

* * *

_Question: Do you think the constant focus on Hudson's wedding has negatively impacted Drake's mental health?_


	16. Chapter 16

Though slightly muffled, I heard Spunkmeyer say, "Hey, where'd Drake go?" downstairs.

I was laying on the bed, curled up, and tears were running down my face. I was embarrassed, but still gripped by the fear that I was failing as a civilian.

"Probably went to use the bathroom," Hicks said.

When I didn't return after ten minutes, Spunkmeyer spoke up again. "Something's wrong, I'm gonna go check on him."

"How do you know something's wrong, man?" Hudson asked.

"I just do, OK! Jesus." Spunkmeyer's voice got clearer as he came upstairs. He looked in the bathroom, muttering to himself that I wasn't in there. He paused at the bedroom, and quietly opened the door. "Drake? Are you OK? Everyone's looking for you."

I didn't turn to face him, nor did I respond.

Spunkmeyer half-closed the door, and approached the bed. "You're not tired already, are you?" He peered over me, seeing my face was stained with tears. "Hey," he whispered, "talk to me, Drake, what's going on?"

"I feel like a total failure," I moaned.

"You're not a failure. What makes you think you're a failure?"

"That's just how I feel. I've been feeling that way ever since I got arrested. No matter what I do, it's always on the back of my mind."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I get it. Hell, I think every single person down in the living room gets it, too, which is why we're all friends."

I sighed, unsure of what to feel.

Spunkmeyer got on the bed. "I know what might make you feel better; after Hudson ties the knot with his lovely lady, you're gonna propose to Vasquez, right?"

I nodded.

"Nice. We're all really happy for you, you know."

At that moment, we heard Hicks coughing downstairs. "Oh, Hudson! Ugh, you . . . You better not be letting loose atomic stinkbombs when you're saying your vows!"

"Sorry, man! I've had a lot of cheese tonight," Hudson replied.

"Open a window or something!" Frost yelled.

"Lay off the fucking blue cheese dressing!" Vasquez hollered. "You're gonna make the paint peel right off the fucking walls!"

"Everybody, stay calm and cover your nose and mouth with your shirts!" Wierzbowski ordered.

Spunkmeyer looked at me. "Think we're safe up here?"

"Not for long," I sighed, getting up. "Besides, we've both had to bunk with Hudson. We should be immune to his methane by now."

As we headed downstairs, we were almost immediately hit in the face with a powerfully foul odor. I coughed, and put my shirt over my nose. "Oh, Lord!"

"You're just in time, Drake," Hicks said through his shirt. "Hudson broke some serious wind here."

Hudson was sitting on the couch with a paper plate on his lap, and he looked up at me with a sad face. "I did say sorry, man."

I sighed, and tried to grin. "Come on, no one can stay mad at you." I leaned down to hug him. "We love you, Hudson." Standing up, I went into the kitchen, and grabbed a beer can. "Alright, this is the bachelor party, so, we should say a few words about the lucky man who is no longer going to be a bachelor in a couple of days. I don't think any of us thought we were going to see the day Hudson actually found someone he was going to love for more than an hour-"

"Drake, no."

I glanced at Hudson. "What?"

"No. If . . . all your speeches are gonna be about . . . how I used to be . . . the 'one-night-stand guy,' then, I don't wanna hear it."

Silence fell over the whole house. I set down my can, sighing. "OK. If that's what you want, then . . . no speeches."

Hudson looked at the rest of us. "If you all made speeches for the reception, and the first, I dunno, half of it is about how much of a dick I was, go fucking fix it, man. I don't need to be embarrassed in front of Miranda's family. I don't need to be embarrassed at my own fucking wedding. I get it; I wasn't real smart way back when. That's over, man. Hell, I'm getting married to a woman I love more than anything in the world. Dontcha think that means something, like, I dunno, I've finally realized that I'll be a lot happier if I can find the one perfect person to share my life with? You guys all know that. Drake's got Vasquez, and they already act like they're married. Spunkmeyer, you got Ferro. Wierzbowski's been very happily married two years. Hicks, Frost, you two got girlfriends." Hudson switched his gaze between every person in the room, and then stood up when no one responded. "Good grief, man. You guys're all morons." He tossed his plate in the garbage before disappearing out the side door leading right into the garage.

"Bloody hell," Wierzbowski sighed.

"Bloody hell's right, dude," Spunkmeyer replied. "I feel terrible. I mentioned his shenanigans once in my speech."

"Same," Frost added. "The rest was about how much of a great guy he is. Even that's not true anymore."

"Oh, come on. He is a good guy and we all know it. I know we all have memories of his shit in bars, but he has moved on. He's changed a lot, and we really should be focusing on that, not embarrassing him by bringing up his past. We really should keep that to ourselves now."

Without a word, I went looking for Hudson, and found him sitting on the swing on the front porch. He hadn't brought his coat, so he was shivering as he stared out at the streetlamps. I went back inside to grab his coat, and draped it over his shoulders as I sat next to him.

"What do you want, man?" Hudson muttered.

"Well, for one thing, you'll catch cold out here. You don't want to be sick on your wedding, do you?"

Hudson put his head in his hands. "Why is there a part of me that doesn't care?"

"You do care, but you're upset right now, so it make take a little while before you realize you care again." I patted his shoulder. "I'm really sorry about . . . bringing up your past. It wasn't nice, and I'll edit my speech before the reception."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

A dog was barking a few yards over. Fallen leaves skidded down the road when a breeze picked up. The Halloween skulls on someone's porch flickered creepily, as they were supposed to every five minutes or so. Hudson sighed. "Never thought I'd ever get to experience this. Just . . . sitting on a porch, watching stuff, watching nothing, even. Last year at this time, we were on a base, doing nothing."

"You at least knew you were going home. I didn't," I said.

"I think we all knew you were gonna go home, man. Wasn't a doubt in my mind they'd let you go. I know . . . I've been home for about three months, but I still feel like going to bed at nine, waking up at seven-"

"It's eight-thirty now. Better get going if you wanna go to bed before Hicks yells at you."

Hudson smirked. "Yeah, so much has changed. I'm just glad the one thing that hasn't changed is having you as my best friend." He looked at me. "Before I forget, which I shouldn't, I just . . . I wanna say I'm really sorry for being a pain in the ass the last couple months. I know my wedding's a big deal, but I should not have let that get in the way of . . . being the guy you can go to when you need help."

"Don't feel bad. When all this settles down, I'm gonna propose to Vasquez, and we'll call it even by having me be a pain in your ass for about five or six months."

"Man, I'm pretty sure we're gonna be running into each other in the grocery store at three in the fucking morning because our wives are craving something weird when they're pregnant."

I snorted. "I certainly hope they don't get pregnant at the same time."

"Why not?"

"Because I might need to hide out at your place for a few hours because I brought home the wrong Cheerios or something like that."

"Yeah, and vice versa, man. I think Miranda might just be crying a lot instead of getting angry. I mean, that's how she is when it's that time of the month, so . . . it can't be that hard to deal with, man."

"You'll be dealing with it for nine months instead of a week."

"I can do it."

"Do you think you're ready to be a father?"

Hudson nodded. He rubbed his face, and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah."

"You can't tell anybody. Not even Vasquez."

"Alright."

He took a breath. "Sometimes, I wonder if . . . I have already fathered kids. On accident. I don't know. Maybe not, because the USCM hasn't sent me any notices about it. Or . . . Jesus, I can't think about it."

"No one bothered to say anything for any number of reasons."

Hudson swallowed hard, nodding.

"I know you don't want it haunting you, but . . . like you said, you don't know. If you did accidentally have a kid from years past, maybe they'll come and find you in the future. It's not like . . . you knew you had one, and it was taken away from you. At this point, there's nothing you can do, and it won't do you much good to focus on something you're completely unaware of, when you have the chance to have your own kid and love them and watch them grow up from day one."

Again, Hudson nodded.

"And, fatherhood is a journey the two of us can experience together. I will make sure my son or daughter refers to you as 'Uncle Will,' and yours better call me 'Uncle Mark,' OK?"

Another nod, with a smile. "Alright, man, I promise I'll do that for you." Hudson shivered. "Let's go back inside. I'm freezing."

* * *

The rest of the night consisted of more talking, and eating, and some games that Hicks brought over. It was quarter-after-nine when we started the games, and Hudson was asleep in the recliner with his belt off. Vasquez sighed as she covered him with a blanket, and when she thought no one was looking, she tousled Hudson's hair.

Around ten-thirty, people decided it was time to go back to their hotel rooms. Frost and Spunkmeyer went first, but Spunkmeyer paused in front of the sleeping Hudson. "He is out like a light."

"Did you see what he did to the kitchen?" Hicks asked. He pointed to the platters of food-most of which were almost empty or completely empty. "Destroyed by Hudson, destroyed by Hudson . . . look, most of the cupcakes are gone, too!"

"Hey, we had a hand in that, too. Can't blame it all on Hudson," I said.

"I didn't see anyone else touch those cupcakes."

Spunkmeyer patted Hudson's belly. "I know where they are!"

Hudson awoke with a snort, and lifted his head to look at Spunkmeyer. "Whaddaya doing, man? Don't touch me there."

"Come on, guys, we wanna go to bed," I said, ushering Spunkmeyer and Frost to the door. "We'll see you at the wedding!"

"Have a good night, Drake!" Spunkmeyer called.

Wierzbowski put on his coat. "I best be heading off, too. It was nice seeing you again, Drake. You and Vasquez have done a lovely job with this place."

"We really haven't done much, to be honest," I said, "but thanks for thinking we did."

Wierzbowski hugged me, then approached Vasquez. "I know you're not the hugging type, but . . . just this once?"

I was surprised to see Vasquez went right for a hug. Without a doubt, that's when I knew she had missed the rest of the unit.

"You and Drake be good to each other, alright? If you need anything, give Eliza a call. Our door's open to you."

Vasquez remained silent as she let go of Wierzbowski, who waved to both of us as he headed out the door.

"I'll see you two in a couple of days. Take care," he said.

That left Hicks and Hudson. Hudson was still half-asleep in the chair, while Hicks was wrapping and putting away the rest of the food. "Hey, Hudson," Hicks said, "you wanna bring home something? Surprisingly, there're lots of leftovers."

Hudson looked in Hicks's direction. "Uh . . . what's left, man?"

"Well, you guys loved my chicken, so, there's none of that-"

"Your chicken was good, man. What's your recipe?"

"You're not getting my recipe. Jesus, can you imagine if I gave you my chicken recipe? Not only would you fuck it up, but you'd probably gain fifty pounds in the process."

"Notice he cares more about the fact that you'd fuck it up. That's why he won't give me his iced tea recipe," I said.

"I didn't say I wouldn't give you my tea recipe, Drake. I challenged you to try and figure it out yourself. You haven't done that, have you?"

"No."

"Figures." Hicks looked back at Hudson. "There are two leftover burgers, little bit of the cheese-and-cracker plate, those chocolate-chip cookies Wierzbowski's wife made-"

"I'll take the cookies, man." Hudson put his belt back on before getting out of the chair. He looked exhausted, and a bit tipsy.

"You know, you can spend the night, if you want," I said.

"Oh, no thanks, man, I'll be OK. Gotta get back to Miranda. Didn't know we'd be running so late." Hudson yawned, and took the bag of cookies from Hicks. "I'll see you all at the wedding." He set the bag down to give me a hug. "Love you, man. Thanks for having us all over."

"Not a problem." I patted his back before letting him go.

"Your turn, Vasquez." Hudson hugged her, and it took a moment before she unfolded her arms and hugged him back.

Hicks stayed until everything was cleaned up and put away. By then, it was close to eleven at night, and we were all wiped out. There was nothing we wanted more than to collapse on the bed-which Vasquez and I did after taking a shower.

* * *

The morning of the wedding was hectic; that's the best way I can describe it. What I wasn't expecting was Vasquez getting emotional. I was partway done with my suit when I heard her start crying in the bathroom, and given that she never cries, I knew something was really, really wrong.

I walked in to find her staring at a makeup kit, looking unsure of what to do with it. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Drake, I need help with this."

I think she's told me before that she really never went through a phase where she wanted to experiment with makeup, and has never bothered with it aside from Wierzbowski's wedding a few years ago. Back then, she had Ferro helping her. Now, she only had me, and . . . I don't know what to do.

However, I didn't want to see her upset. "Come in the bedroom. I'll see what I can do."

Sitting on the bed with her, I took a tissue box from the nightstand, and began drying the tears from her face. "How come you wanna wear makeup today?" I asked.

"It'll leave a better impression on everyone there. I want to look like I care, even though . . . I don't." Vasquez bit her lip, trying not to sob again.

I kissed her cheek. "Alright, no more tears, honey, 'cause it'll mess up my work. Look, you have such a pretty face with nothing on, so I won't do too much, OK?"

"You don't even know how to use this stuff."

"No, but I'm gonna try. We can't call Ferro or Eliza over, because we're losing a lot of time. I'll do my best not to mess up and make you look like a clown on accident."

"That's very reassuring, Drake."

I smirked. "Thank you. Relax your face." I was trying to work as quick as I could so we didn't lose more time. So far, I wasn't screwing up. Nothing looked off or out-of-place. When I finished, I put the brushes and little containers of toner away, and gently took Vasquez's face. "Hey," I whispered, "just remember that, no matter what, I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

"You didn't fuck up, did you?"

"I don't think I did. Go have a look in the mirror."

I know we were steadily running out of time before we had to leave, but I said nothing as Vasquez examined herself in the mirror.

Finally, she said, "Thank you, Drake."

"You're welcome. Look, we gotta get going soon. I'm gonna finish up my suit. You, finish whatever you need to do."

"Don't you have to go help Hudson with his tux?"

"Yeah, but, I'm not leaving without you-"

We heard a car horn honk in the driveway. I jogged over the window to see Wierzbowski looking up at us through the windshield of his and Eliza's car. "Hey! Come on, you two! We need to get going!"

"Dammit." I ran back into the bedroom, hastily finishing up my suit and tie.

"Is that Wierzbowski?" Vasquez asked.

"Yeah. Hurry up, sweetheart."

It took all of six minutes for us to finish what we needed to, grab our coats, and run out to the car. "What the hell're you doing here?" I asked, sitting next to Wierzbowski.

"You two are not walking all the way to the church in this bloody cold weather. The others are already waiting. Drake, you should've been with Hudson an hour ago," Wierzbowski said.

I sighed. "Well, I'm sorry. He's not mad, is he?"

"He's too anxious to be mad. You need to be calming him down before the show gets on the road."

"Are there people already at the church?" Vasquez asked.

"Apone and the rest of the unit are there. I think Miranda's parents and siblings are there. Eliza's there-well, she's the matron of honor. She has to be there already."

Wierzbowski sped down busy streets and quiet roads before we arrived at the church Miranda and Hudson picked to get married at. He let out his breath before turning the car off in the parking lot. "Alright, Drake, join the party. Vasquez, I'll find you a place to sit."

I met up with the groom and his entourage in a room next to the church lobby. Hudson was already dressed up, and he was tugging at his collar, sweat running down his face.

"Everything OK?" I asked.

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "Been loving this pumpkin tea, though."

I knelt in front of Hudson. Completely unsure of what to say or do, I gripped his shoulders. "You got this, buddy," I said, shaking him.

"I just wanna get it done. Hell, I don't even know if Miranda's here yet, man," Hudson moaned.

"You're not supposed to see the bride in her gown yet," Wierzbowski said as he entered the room. "Don't panic. She'll come when she comes."

"She does know the ceremony is supposed to start soon, right?" I asked.

"I trust Eliza's been keeping her on task."

"I hope so," Spunkmeyer mumbled.

Wierzbowski glared at him. "I trust _my wife_ has been keeping Miranda on task."

"I know she's your wife, 'Ski."

"Well, don't doubt her abilities as the matron of honor. She's been down this road before, so she knows what she's doing. Shut up and drink your tea."

As we waited, Hudson told us that he and Miranda were going down to Miami for their honeymoon. "We'll be gone about a week, so, Drake, if you need any help . . . you're kinda on your own, man."

"I'll be fine. All that matters is you two have fun," I said. "Just make sure you call us to tell us you arrived safely. And take pictures."

"I will, I promise."

Frost entered the room. "Everyone's here. Let's get this show started. Hudson, you ready?"

"Yeah, man."

I patted his shoulder. "All you need to say is 'I do.'"

"Actually, I prepared some vows of my own, so I'll be saying a lot more than 'I do.'"

We waited until it was our turn to head down the aisle. After the minister headed down, I gave Hudson another shoulder squeeze. "You're next, buddy."

Hudson took a breath, and smiled as he walked down the aisle. He flashed a goofy grin at the rest of his old unit.

I saw Apone say, "We're really proud of you, you pain-in-the-ass."

Next, I had to head down. I tried to keep my gaze on my unit. Ferro was smiling at me, as was Crowe. Even Dietrich looked proud. Behind me came the rest of the groomsmen, with Spunkmeyer smelling heavily of pumpkin. We stood next to each other in front, all smiles, because there were photographers.

I hoped I didn't pass out or have a flashback. Next to me, I heard Wierzbowski whisper, "There's my lovely girl," when Eliza headed down the aisle after the bridesmaids. Everyone fell silent when it was announced the bride was coming, and we looked to see Miranda, walking alongside her father, coming to the alter. Her six-year-old niece was throwing flower petals everywhere, and her seven-year-old nephew had the rings on a pillow. I just couldn't believe they were going to be Hudson's niece and nephew now.

Hudson looked like his heart was going to leap from his ribcage. Once Miranda was standing next to him, he whispered, "My God, you're . . . you're so beautiful, I wish I had more to say."

There was silence as the minister made the final preparations to his reading. I looked out at the guests, again trying to keep my focus on my unit, but I could feel people on Miranda's side staring at us. _Maybe I won't pass out or have a flashback. Maybe I'll just throw up. _I took a breath, feeling a nervous knot start to tighten in my stomach. I'd rather have the flashback than puke all over myself in front of so many people. At least no one else can see the flashback.

Other than being stared at, there was nothing here that could send me into a tailspin of anxiety. It was the thought of being anxious alone that was working me up. I knew that could progress into something worse.

_This isn't even your wedding, and you're nervous. What kind of pathetic, weak son-of-a-bitch are you? No wonder you're still seeing yourself as a failure, because you are one!_

My knees felt weak, and the knot grew tighter and heavier. Then I felt Wierzbowski slide his arm in mine, holding me up. He leaned over to whisper, "Take a deep breath. I got you."

"What's going on?" Hicks whispered.

"Everything's fine, shush."

When it came time for the vows, Hudson and Miranda faced each other, and the minister asked if either of them had prepared any vows of their own. Hudson nodded, and took Miranda's hands. "Miranda Harrison, you are . . . the most beautiful, smart, and loving human being I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You're my everything. I'd do anything for you. Hell, I'd give you one of my kidneys or lungs or something if you needed it. There's no other woman in the world I'd like to spend the rest of my life with."

Miranda squeezed Hudson's hands. "William Hudson, you're the first person to . . . not be intimidated by the difficulties I had when we first met. I can count on you for anything and everything. If I'm ever sad, you're there for me to hold. If I do something amazing, you're there to celebrate it with me. I know I'm a doctor, and spent eight years working for my degree, but getting the chance to spend the rest of my life with someone who'll be there for all the ups and downs is . . . a far bigger achievement."

The ring bearer was brought up, and the minister looked at Hudson. "Do you, William Hudson, take thee, Miranda Harrison, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Hudson said, a wide grin on his face.

"And do you, Miranda Harrison, take thee, William Hudson, as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." Miranda looked like she was trying not to cry with happiness.

They put the rings on each other's fingers, and the minister pronounced them husband and wife. With the ceremony over, Hudson scooped up Miranda, running with her outside to the limousine waiting to take them to the reception. The rest of us followed.

I will say one thing; seeing my best friend this happy definitely made me feel better.

* * *

It had gotten cold enough to snow while we drove to the restaurant holding the reception. Wierzbowski let out an irritated sigh when we got stuck at a traffic light. "Turn green, dammit," he muttered.

"It will eventually. We're not gonna be late for the reception, sweetie," Eliza replied. She looked over her seat at me and Vasquez. "How are you two doing back there? Are you warm enough?"

"I'm hungry and thirsty," I said. "Other than that, I'm good."

"You'll be able to grab something from the refreshment table as soon as you get there."

"I forgot, there's only gonna be champagne for alcohol. Darn."

"Because that's important." Vasquez rolled her eyes.

"It was a joke, honey."

"You are feeling better, right, Drake?" Wierzbowski asked. "You looked like you were going to collapse during the ceremony."

"I'm feeling a little better." _I want to be alone. But that won't be possible for the next four or five hours._

"If you get uncomfortable again, just come right to one of us groomsmen. We'll do our best to take care of you as discreetly as possible. Make something up so the guests don't think anything of it, you know, say your stomach's upset."

"Yeah, don't feel like you have to suffer through this, Drake," Eliza added.

"God only knows how many people in her family Miranda's told I have PTSD," I muttered.

"I don't think she'd tell anyone that without your permission."

"She told people about how Hudson used to have 'commitment issues.' That's why I'm worried."

"I think PTSD is different than past commitment issues. She wouldn't tell anyone about you, Drake," Wierzbowski said.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I helped Vasquez out of the car, hugging her close as we followed the Wierzbowskis inside. Most of the guests were already there, and I made a beeline for the refreshment table.

You can always trust Hudson to provide a good assortment of food at an event. It was hard not to put a small sample of everything on my plate. After picking and choosing through the snacks, I went over to where Vasquez was sitting, but one of Miranda's bridesmaids saw me and said, "Aren't you the best man?"

"Yeah . . . What about it?" I asked.

"You have to sit next to the groom at the main table."

Without a word, I headed over to the main table. Hudson and Miranda were in another room, getting lots and lots of pictures taken. I was by myself, dipping forkfuls of fruit into whipped cream, and staring at it before putting it in my mouth. Occasionally, I'd glance over at Vasquez, thoroughly pissed that I couldn't sit with her.

"Hudson's looking for you, Drake," Wierzbowski said when he approached the table.

"What for?"

"He wants some pictures with you."

"Why?"

"Why not? What's the matter?"

"I have to sit here and not with Vasquez the whole night?"

Wierzbowski shook his head. "After the main dinner is completed, you can sit wherever you want. For now, they want the wedding party together. Everyone knows where to look when it's time for the speeches."

I sighed. "Alright, where's Hudson?"

"In the picture room."

"Guard my food, will you?" I stood up, making my way over to the small room where the newlyweds were.

Hudson kissed Miranda before setting her down, and pulled me into the room. "Look, man-" He held up his left hand, showing me his ring, "I'm married!"

I smirked. "Alright, you wanted pictures with me, for some reason."

"'For some reason'-Drake, you're my best friend, and my best man. I'm getting some photos with you, and they're going on the wall, man. Now, smile."

"Are you getting pictures with each of the groomsmen?"

"Hadn't planned on it."

"I'll smile if you also get individual photos with the rest of the guys."

Hudson knew getting me to smile was a challenge, so he accepted it. "Alright. Go get Wierzbowski when we're done here."

* * *

Everything was relatively calm for me, up until it was time for the speeches. Of course, the best man has to be first, but I swallowed my nerves and stood up, holding my index cards. I took a breath when I was handed the microphone. "This thing is working, right?"

Everyone fell quiet. They could me loud and clear.

"OK, good. Uh . . . in case you haven't noticed, today was a very special day for my best friend here-" I gestured to Hudson, prompting everyone to clap, "I'm definitely happy that he got to tie the knot with his girlfriend, now wife. I'm next, by the way."

Vasquez mouthed, "Shut up."

"Anyway, Hudson and I served in the same unit in the Marines for six years. He was the last person I expected to ever get married, but that was my first impression of him. As I got to know him and serve alongside him-we've saved each other's lives multiple times-I learned that he is extremely loyal, good-hearted, and, once in a while, pretty smart. He became not only my best friend, but my brother as well. I . . . I really don't have a good connection with my real family, and Hudson was one of the first people to make me feel like I belonged somewhere, like I have people who love me." I paused, and set down my index cards. I wanted to say what was really on my heart. "I suffer from PTSD, and . . . when I have days where I feel like moving forward is impossible, I go to Hudson, because I know he'll push me to keep going. I'd do the same for him. It . . . can be hard for me to feel happy sometimes, but today . . . today I feel happy, because my best friend is happy." I raised my glass, looking at Hudson. "Here's to many, many happy and healthy years between you and your new bride."

Hudson looked a little stunned that I announced my PTSD in front of everyone. Then, he looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Aw, Drake. Come 'ere, man!" He grabbed me in a hug when I set my glass down.

Spunkmeyer got to speak next (why, I don't know, but he wanted to). He took the microphone from me. "Hudson was my first brother, too," he said. "Lemme tell you, all good stories in our unit tend to involve Hudson-you guys know." He pointed to where Apone and the others were sitting. "Hudson's just the best guy you'll ever know. Seriously, if he caught somebody crying on base, he'd go over and give them a hug. He'll pat their back and just squeeze 'em real tight."

At that point, I knew Spunkmeyer was a little tipsy, because he was acting out his story as he talked.

"He'll wait till you stop crying before saying, 'What's wrong, man?' And you can tell him anything. Anything at all. He'll keep all your secrets. All of 'em. He's just this big, cuddly stuffed animal who can actually pack a wallop in combat. Oh, and if you didn't want your dinner because you're tired of overcooked fucking broccoli four nights in a row, he'll take it. He'll eat anything if you put it in front of him. Oh, that reminds me, there was this one time he ate a raw potato. Someone-I think it was this guy-" Spunkmeyer pointed to me, "said that you can't eat potatoes raw. Hudson says, 'Well, I bet you can, man!' And they're making bets; Drake would give Hudson money if he actually ate the whole potato, and Hudson would give Drake money if he spit it out. So, Hicks goes to the mess hall, gets a potato, rinses it, and we don't peel it or anything, we just give Hudson the damn potato. For the next ten minutes or so, we're just watching Hudson eat a raw potato. And guess what, he actually ate the whole thing! Drake lost fifty bucks, I think."

"No, man, it was eighty-five. It was to make up for how much I lost when we had a swear jar set up," Hudson said.

"Eighty-five. Drake lost eighty-five bucks. Anyways, Hudson . . . you . . . keep doing you, bud. You brighten up a room as soon as you walk in. Although, sometimes, you kill all the flowers because, my God, your farts should be labeled as a chemical weapon-"

"Alright, Spunkmeyer, that's enough." Laughing, Hicks took the microphone from him. "I'm sorry, guys, he's had too much to drink. I think I'll give this to the matron of honor next."

* * *

It felt like it took forever for the evening to start winding down. People were in a good mood, and then the dancing started, and . . . yes, I was out there. Eventually, guests began to leave, as it was getting late.

Hudson and Miranda had their flight to Miami in the morning, but they made sure to say thanks and goodbye to everyone who came. When Wierzbowski was ready to take us home, I kinda felt as though it was the day Hudson left the unit; I was sad, even though I was going to see him again, very soon.

The funny part is that when Miranda tossed the bouquet of flowers into the crowd, they landed next to Vasquez. I know that whoever gets the flowers when the bride throws them is supposed to get married next, and that was true in this case.

I pretended I was still sleeping when Vasquez got up the morning after the wedding. When I heard her getting out stuff to make breakfast with, I got out of bed, and took the ring out from my nightstand. Sliding it in the pocket of my robe, I went downstairs, acting like this was just a regular morning. Vasquez seemed focused on what she was doing, and I very, very quietly got on one knee behind her. Again, she still had no idea what was going on.

A big grin on my face, I tugged on her pant leg. "Hey, Vasquez?"

"Drake, what are you-" She turned around, dropping the spatula when she saw me holding the little velvet box with the ring inside.

"You've waited a long time to hear me ask this. I think you've waited long enough. Vasquez, will you marry me?"

Without hesitating, Vasquez replied, "Yes." She knelt in front of me, taking the ring, and hugging me. In all the years we've known each other, I've never seen her so happy or emotional. I know it was just us in the room, and her reaction would probably be different if we were in a room full of people, but I really hoped she'd start being a little more open with her emotions. Not overnight, but slowly. Maybe she got used to hiding things because we hid our relationship for so long. Now, we could both be a bit more open.

My journey isn't over, for sure. This is just a new path I get to travel on.

* * *

_Question: What does Drake telling the wedding guests about his PTSD say about how much his character has progressed?_

_Author's Note: There will likely be a post-"Ice Star" series when the other series has completed, which won't be for awhile. It's safe to say that we won't get a Drake and Vasquez wedding story for some time, but I promise it will happen.  
_

_I originally thought this story would be short, and I was wrong. I'm glad I was wrong, because this was one of my favorite stories to work on. Happy reading, - Cat._


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